I^RIOE  ir>  OEIVTJ!^. 


s>xx 

jCA^Sd. 


(Nu.inl>er  58.) 


DEBORAH; 

.1 

#1*,  i!I» 

A DRAMA,  i:i  THREE  ACTS. 

BY  CHARLES  SMITH  CHELTNAM. 

Author  of  **  A Fairy' s Father  f '^More  Precious  than  Gold,"  '*  Aurora  Floyd," 
(Qc, 


AS  FIRST  FERFORMED  AT  THE  ROYAL  VICTORIA  THEATRE,  L.ON- 
'^DON,  UNDER, niE  M VNACrEAIENT  OF  MESSRS.  FRAMP- 
TON  & FENTON,  ON  TUESDAY,  JULY,  10,  1864. 

TO  WHICH  ARE  ADDED 

A description  of  the  Costinne— Cast  of  the  Characters — Entrances  and  Exits— 
Relative  Positions  of  the  Performers  on  tlie  Stage,  and 
the  wliolo  of  file  Stage  Business.  - 


NEW  YORK 


■ THE  DE  WITT  PUBLISHING  HOUSE  •( 


A COMPLETE  DESCRIPTIVE  CATALOGUE  OF  DE  WITT’S  ACTING] 
PLAYS  and  DEWITT’S  ETHIOPIAN  AND  COMIC  DR  A MAS,  containing  j 
[plot,  Costume,  Scenery,  Time  of  Representation,  and  all  other  information,  mailed] 
Ifree  and  post-paid  on  application. 


CK. 

b. 

LD. 

E. 


itto. 


: cen- 
years 


, rock, 


, R. 


DEBORAH 


OR,  THE 


SWISH  MAIDEN’S  WRONH. 

; % §rama, 

IN  THREE  ACTS. 

By  CHA.RLES  SMITH  CHELTNAM, 

r of  “ J.  Fairy^s  Father, “ More  Precious  than  Gold,'''*  “ Aurora  Floyd,'*  etc.,  etc. 


IRST  PERFORMED  AT  THE  ROYAL  VICTORIA  THEATRE,  LON- 
DON, UNDER  THE  MANAGEMENT  OF  MESSRS.  FRAMPTON 
AND  FENTON,  ON  TUESDAY,  JULY  12,  1864. 


TO  WHICH  IS  ADDED 


SSCRIPTION  OF  THE  COSTUMES — CAST  OF  THE  CHARACTERS — EJT* 
TRANCES  AND  EXITS — RELATIVE  POSITIONS  OP  THE  PER- 
FORMERS ON  THE  STAGE,  AND  THE  WHOLE 
OF  THE  STAGE  BUSINESS. 


i 


NEW  YORK 

THE  DE  WITT  PUBLISHING  HOUSE 


2 


DEBORAH, 


CAST  OF  GEARA0TEB8. 

Royal  Victoria  Theatr^ 
London^  July  12,  186- 

Lorenz,  Burgomaster  of  the  Village Mr.  George  Rose. 

Joseph,  his  Son Mr,  J.  H.  Fitzpatri  C 

The  Schoolmaster,  an  Apostate  Jew Mr.  Basil  Potter. 

The  Pastor Mr.  Brownlow 

Peter,  a Farm  Servant Mr.  George  Yarno  i 

Aoraham,  an  old  blind  Jew .Mr.  J.  B.  Johnston[e* 

Reuben,  an  Emigrant  Jew Mr.  R.  Marchant.  \ 

Deborah,  a Jewess Miss  Julia  Seaman, 

Anna,  Niece  to  the  Pastor Miss  Maria  Daly,  j 

Martha,  a Fanatical  Old  Woman Mrs.  W.  Daly.  ) 

Jewess Miss  Roberts.  j 

Rose,  a Villager Miss  E.  Farren.  j 

Little  Deborah,  Child  to  Anna  and  Joseph Miss  Marchant. 

Villagers,  Male  and  Female,  and  Children,  Gipsies  ditto.  Emigrant  Jews  d itto. 


The  Scene  passes  in  and  about  a Styrian  village  in  the  early  part  of  the  laslp  cen- 
tury. A week  supposed  to  elapse  between  the  first  and  second  acts,  and  five  j years 
between  the  second  and  third  acts.  ' 


TIME  OF  PLAYING-TWO  HOURS  AND  FIFTEEN  MINUTES. 


Note.— if ana^rers  are  requested  to  advertise  this  Piece  by  its  full  tide. 


SCENERY.  I 

ACT  I.,  Scene  1.— At  the  back,  l.,  a small  church,  slightly  raised  upon  a rock. 


.V . PJ. 


m 

c-iiiS 


DEBOKAH. 


O 


\ ACT  I.,  Scene  2. — A wood ; a ruined  stone  cross,  l.  ; night. 

ACT  I.,  Scene  3.  A room  in  Lorenz’  house ; night ; a table  with  two  chairs,  l.  c. 

ACT  I.,  Scene  4.— A rocky  hillside,  beneath  which  is  a miserable  hut,  r.;  a stormy 
night,  distant  thunder  and  lightning 


•v 


corn-stacks,  &c. ; a rustic  gate  at  back,  l.  c.,  from  which  a path  leads  over  the  sidG 
of  a low  hill;  at  the  outer  side  of  the  path,  r.  c.,  a stream,  breaking  over  rocks', 
night ; storm  continued. 

ACT  II.,  Scene  1.— A room  in  the  schoolmaster’s  house.  A table,  c.,  a large  easy 
chair,  r.  c. 

ACT  II.,  Sce7ie  2.— A room  in  the  pastor’s  house.  Large  open  door,  l. 

ACT  II.,  Scenes.— A church-yard;  the  side  of  the  church,  r.;  the  windows  lit 


Door. 


* * * 
Lime 


* * * 
Trees. 


Side  of  Church. 


Mountain  Landscape. 
Boundary  Wall. 


Overshadowed  by  willow. 


Lime  E 

* * * JL 

Trees.  Broken  Column. 


from  within  ; a small  door  half  covered  with  foliage ; lime  trees  on  either  side  ; a 
broken  column,  l.,  overshadowed  by  a willow ; at  back  the  boundary  wall ; mountain 
landscape  beyond ; sunset. 

ACT  III.,  Scene  1. — A room  in  the  schoolmaster’s  house,  same  as  Scene  1st,  Act 
II.  A table  and  easy  chair,  c.,  another  chair,  l.  c. 

ACT  III.,  Scene  2.— The  border  of  a pine  forest  on  the  river  Mur  ; evening. 

ACT  III.,  Scene  3.— A wood  path  ; evening. 

ACT  III.,  Scene  4.— The  farm-yard,  same  as  Scene  5,  Act  I. ; a well  with  a bucket 
and  horn  drinking-cup,  l.  8 e.  ; two  rustic  stools  near  house  door,  r.  : fiery  sunset 
striking  upon  the  waters  of  the  stream  and  upon  the  hill  side. 


4 


DEBOKAR. 


COSTUMES. 

Lorenz. — A heavy  skirted  brown  coat,  long  waistcoat,  trunks  to  the  knee,  stocking 
shoes,  and  conical  hat. 

Schoolmaster. — Same  as  Lorenz,  but  of  a gray  color. 

Pastor.— Same  description,  all  black. 

Peter.— Brown  jacket,  red  vest,  brown  trunks,  gray  stockings,  shoes,  and  roui 
felt  hat. 

Joseph.— 2?Yr5^  Dress:  Brown  jacket,  red  vest,  dark  blue  trunks,  stockings,  shoe 
and  round  felt  hat.  Second  Dress : Same  description,  but  of  a lighter  color. 
Abraham. — Old  Gaberdine,  stockings,  shoes,  and  hat. 

Kueben. — Gaberdine,  stockings,  shoes,  and  bat. 

Deborah.— si  Dress : White  bodice,  brown  skirt,  turban,  and  scarf  for  waisi. 
Second  Dress : Gray. 

Anna. — Mrst  Dress : Black  velvet  body,  with  colored  trimming,  red  skirt,  Secon. 
Dress : White,  of  the  same  description.  Third  Dress : Dark  blue,  with  coloret 
trimming. 

Martha.— Black  body,  brown  skirt,  and  black  velvet  cap. 

Rose.— Same  as  Anna. 


PROPERTIES. 

A silver  ring,  key,  bag  of  money,  bag  containing  potatoes,  bread,  &c.,  pursa  ol 
gold,  bridal  wreath,  bouquet  of  flowers,  bouquets  for  peasants,  rosary,  traveller’s 
wallet,  staff,  bucket,  horn  drinking-cup,  basket  of  strawberries. 


STAGE  DIRECTIONS. 

R.  means  Right  of  Stage,  facing  the  Audience  ; L.  Left ; C.  Centre  ; R.  C.  Eight 
of  Centre ; L.  C.  Left  of  Centre.  D.  F.  Door  in  the  Flat,  or  Scene  running  across 
the  back  of  the  Stage  ; C.  D.  F.  Centre  Door  in  the  Flat ; R.  D.  F.  Right  Door  in 
the  Flat ; L.  C.  F.  Left  Door  in  the  Flat ; R.  D.  Right  Door ; L.  D.  Left  Door ; 1 Ec 
First  Entrance  ; 2 E.  Second  Entrance  ; U.  E.  Upper  Entrance  ; 1,  2 or  G First, 
Second  or  Third  Groove. 

R.  R.  C.  C.  L.  C.  Lo 

The  reader  is  supposed  to  be  upon  the  stage  facing  the  audiencb 
[For  Synopsis  see  pages  32  and  33.] 


DEBORAH 


ACT  I. 

ICENE  I. — A Village  ; at  the  hack,  l.,  a small  church,  s ightly  raised  upon 
a rock,  with  a winding  path  from  the  door  ; rustic  houses,  overshadowed 
by  lime  trees,  r.  and  l.  ; in  the  background,  mountains  and  a stream. 

Jhe  last  strains  of  the  Easter  Hymn  are  heard  as  the  curtain  rises,  and  the 
Plasant  Congregation  is  leaving  the  church;  the  Women  and 
Children  loiter  in  knots  ; the  Pastor,  holding  his  niece  Anna  by  the 
hand,  descends  though  the  midst  of  his  flock,  who  salute  him  reverently, 
the  Women  kissing  his  hand,  and  the  Men  taking  off  their  hats  to  him ; 
Old  Martha  seats  herself  on  a block  of  stone — Anna  and  the  Pastof 
advance  to  c. 

Anna,  If  there  is  any  good  in  me,  dear  uncle,  I owe  it  to  your  teach- 
ag,  which  has  enlarged  my  heart  and  filled  it  with  charity.  Oh,  if  it 
'?^ei*e  only  granted  me  to  be  of  service  to  the  suffering  ! 

Pastor.  Do  not  all  suffer  ? 

Anna.  But  some  especially  ; that  poor  woman  of  whom  I have  spoken 
o you,  uncle. 

Pas.  The  Jewess  ] 

Anna.  The  mendicant. 

Pas.  She  who  has  a young  child  1 

Anna.  And  who  is  forsaken  by  all ! Dsar  uncle,  if  I might  shelter 
.Her,  and  bring  up  her  poor  outcast  child  % 

Pas.  You  forget — we  are  not  masters  here  in  our  village.  To  give 
ihelter  to  this  unfortunate  creature  and  her  child  would  be  to  make  them 

j.  burthen  on  the  commune  ; and  Jews 

Anna.  Fellow-creatures,  uncle. 

Pas.  But  lost  sinners  ! 

Anna.  Not  lost  in  the  sight  of  Heaven,  uncle. 

Pas.  Well,  well,  dear  child 

Lorenz  and  the  Schoolmaster  leave  the  church,  and  descend  talking  ear- 
nestly. 

See  ! here  comes  the  Burgomaster,  with  his  friend  the  schoolmaster  ; you 
know  how  they  think  respecting  the  unhappy  race  of  Jews. 

Anna.  I know,  but  yet  I will  speak  to  them.  Papa  Lorenz  does  not 
uke  to  deny  me  anything. 

Lorenz  (r.  c.).  It  s a scandal,  Schoolmaster— a scandal  ! On  Good 
Friday,  when  every  good  Christian  is  at  church,  to  be  away  vagabond- 
izing, nobody  knows  where  ! 


DEBOEAH. 


G 


Schoolmaster  (r.  c.).  Joseph  always  had  a restless  spirit,  and  I 
have  often  feared  for  his  religious  steadfastness. 

Anna.  Heaven  be  with  3'ou  this  good  day,  Papa  Lorenz. 

Lor.  Endless  good  mornings  to  you,  my  dear!  and  to  your  reverence. 
{talcing  off  his  hat)  I’m  hurt,  Pastor,  that  my  graceless  boy  should  not 
have  been  at  church  this  morning  to  hear  your  beautiful  sermon. 

Pas.  Do  not  be  angry  with  him,  Burgomaster ; Joseph  was  always  a 
well-conducted  youth,  and  may  have  had  good  reasons  for  being  absent 
from  church. 

Anna.  Before  you  accuse  him,  papa,  hear  what  he  has  to  say  for  him- 
self ; and  you  may  have  to  praise  instead  of  blame  him.  But  first  listen 
to  me.  I have  a great  favor  to  ask  of  you. 

Lor.  What  can  my  little  Anna  ask  that  I will  not  grant,  if  it  is  in  my 
power  to  do  so  ? 

Some  of  the  Peasants  approach  and  speaks  to  Pastor,  who  retires  with 
them  to  back  of  the  stage, 

Anna.  First,  papa,  you  must  promise  to  listen  to  me  patiently. 

Lor.  Chatter  away  to  your  heart’s  content,  my  dear ; to-day  is  a 
holiday,  even  for  the  Burgomaster  ! and  your  talk  in  sure  to  be  pleasan- 
ter to  him  than  his  own  thoughts  just  now. 

Anna.  Perhaps  you  already  know,  papa  Lorenz,  that,  in  a wretched 
hovel,  on  the  other  side  of  the  wood  yonder,  a poor  woman  has  lately 
given  birth  to  three  children,  for  whom  she  can  scarcely  find  means  of 
subsistence  ! Well,  I was  on  my  way  to  take  her  some  clothing,  milk, 
and  bread  for  her  poor  infants,  when  at  a turn  in  the  path  I came  upon 
a beggar-woman,  pressing  a little  child  to  her  bosom.  Her  look  was 
strange  and  wild,  and  she  fixed  an  eager  gaze  upon  the  milk  I was  car- 
rying, but  she  seemed  too  proud  to  beg,  for  she  seized  the  vessel  and 
looked  into  my  face  without  uttering  a word.  Finding  1 difl  not  oppose 
her,  she  gave  drink  to  the  child  in  her  arms.  . Without  lliinking  of  what 
I was  doing,  I then  gave  her  the  bread  and  the  clothes  I was  carrying. 
She  said  nothing,  but  took  ray  hand  and  raised  it  to  her  lips.  I ask  her 
if  the  child  was  hers  ; she  answered  that  it  was  not.  *•'  Of  what  nation 
are  you  ? ” I asked  her.  I am  a Jewess  ! ” she  answered,  {the  School- 
master moves  restlessly)  T started  I The  poor  woman’s  eyes  fiaslied, 
and  she  sprang  to  her  feet  crying,  “ I knew  you  did  not  know  me,  or 
your  charitj’^  would  not  have  been  so  bountiful ! Yes,  I am  a Jewess — 
banished  from  Hungary  with  my  people — our  wretched  hovels  burnt  and 
we  compelled  to  fiy  for  our  lives  ! I have  guided  the  steps  of  a woman 
who  in  this  wood  has  prematurely  become  a mother  ! Hunted  from  tlie 
dwellings  of  mankind,  we  have  sought  shelter  with  the  beasts  of  the 
wilderness  ! ” 

S.  Mast.  And  you  quite  forgot  the  Christian  woman  to  whom  you 
were  bearing  milk  and  bread  7 

Anna.  Pressing  want  was  before  my  eyes  : could  I withhold  drink 
from  the  poor  child’s  parched  lips  while  I inquired  as  to  its  parents’  re- 
ligious faith  1 

Lor.  Let  her  tell  her  story,  Schoolmaster. 

Anna.  1 have  no  more  to  tell  ; but,  good  Papa  Lorenz,  I have  now  to 
asked  you  the  favor  I told  you  of.  T want  your  permission,  as  Burgo- 
master of  the  village,  to  receive  this  unfoiT unate  creature  amongst  us. 

S.  Mast,  {greatly  moved).  What!  Bring  a Jewess  into  our  village  ? 

Anna  {to  Lorenz).  Let  me  bring  up  the  poor  little  child  ! 

S.  Mast.  Was  ever  such  a thing  heard  ! {eollipg)  Here  Pastor,  listen 
to  3’our  niece  1 


ACT  1. 


7 


Lor.  Come,  come,  Schoolmaster ! hear  the  child  out. 

S.  Mast,  (r  ).  Not  another  word,  Burgomaster.  Take  a Jewess  and 
her  child  amongst  us  ! Here,  where  we  are  at  least  a century  in  advance 
of  the  surrounding  country  in  enlightenment — into  this  district,  whence 
the  Jews  were  driven  a hundred  years  ago.  Impossible  ! 

Anna.  Don’t  let  the  Schoolmaster  talk  me  down,  dear  Papa  Lorenz  ! 

Lor.  The  subject  is  a very  grave  one,  m dear  j I must  take  time  to 
think  about  it. 

Anna.  Be  charitable  and  just. 

S.  Mast.  That’s  the  difficulty.  It’s  the  question  of  a principle — the 
maintenance  of  the  law  — of  the  law  ! 

Anna.  Of  the  law  which  says  “ Love  thy  neighbor ! ” 

Crosses  to  l.  c.,  Pastor  comes  forward  surrounded  by  Peasants,  in  the 
midst  of  whom  is  Old  Martha. 

Pas.  (c.).  Good  people,  my  niece  merely  wishes  to  give  shelter  to  a 
poor  woman  and  her  child  for  a short  time. 

Martha  (r.  c.).  The  evil  one  does  not  need  a long  time  to  do  his 
work  ! {^coughing  every  now  and  then  with  feebleness')  A Jewess  in  our  vil- 
lage ! That  old  Martha  should  ever  have  lived  to  hear  of  such  a thing  ! 
Neighbors  ! do  you  wish  to  have  your  springs  poisoned,  as  they  were  by 
those  infidels  in  the  year  1600 1 Do  you  wish  your  infants  to  be  all 
strangled,  or  infected  with  small  pox — or  sti  icken  with  deformity  ? 
Pastor,  you  ought  to  blush  to  think  of  so  perverting  our  religion  I 
We’ve  reached  a pretty  pass,  when  our  Pastor,  even  on  Good  Friday, 
dares  to  talk  of  bringing  Jews  amongst  4ns  flock  ! 

Peasants  (^pressing  forward).  Where  is  she — where  is  this  Jewess'? 
Burgomaster  ! it’s  your  duty  to  see  to  this! 

Lor.  Good  people  I 

Mar.  {turning  to  Peasants).  We  want  no  witches  and  child-mur- 
derers amongst  us  ! 

Peas.  No,  no  ! Let’s  And  the  Jewess  ! {tumult,) 

Pas.  My  children  1 good  people,  hoar  me  ! 

Mar.  Don’t  listen  to  him,  neighbors  ^ our  Pastor  is  no  better  than  an 
infidel  1 {increased  tumult.) 

Anna.  For  heaven’s  sake — good  Martha — friends  1 Do  hear  me  ! Do 
not  let  this  poor  woman  suffer  for  my  interference  in  her  behalf  I 

[A  number  of  the  Peasants  hurry  ojf^  l. 

Lor.  Stay,  good  people,  I command  you  ! 

Voices  {without).  The  Jewess!  The  Jewess  ! {continued  clamor.) 

Anna  {to  Pastor).  Oh,  uncle — see  I Protect  the  poor  woman,  do  not 
let  them  maltreat  her  ! 

Omnes.  The  Jewess!  The  Jewess! 

Deborah  rushes  in  wildly,  l.,  pursued  by  a crowd  of  Peasants,  she  stops 
suddenly,  c.,  and  draws  herself  up  proudly. — The  Schoolmaster 
glares  at  her  wildly,  then  steals  off,  l.,  trembling  with  terror. 

Debor.  I am  a Jewess  I What  want  you  of  me  ? 

Mar.  (r  ).  Vagabond  1 What  are  you  doing  in  this  villai'e? 

Debor.  {looking  slowly  at  the  faces  around  her),  I am  seeking — {shaking 
her  head  and  dropping  her  voice) — no  one — nothing  ! 

Anna  {seizing  her  hand).  She  is  seeking  food  ! 

Debor.  No,  I came  not  to  beg  ! (glancing  around  fearfully — aside)  He 
is  not  here  I {going.) 

Mar.  Don’t  let  her  get  oft.  neighbors,  till  she  has  confes.‘^ed  what 


8 


DEBORAH. 


Droim^tL  her  prowling  about  the  village  ! But  no  need  of  her  confession 
— ['ll  lell  you.  To-raorrow  the  Jews  keep  their  hideous  Easter  Feast  at 
which  {mysteriously)  they  sacrifice  Christian  children  in  their  infe  nal 
rites  ! (Deborah  starts  and  shudders  with  horror)  See  there  ! See  how 
she  rolls  her  eyes  and  trembles.  Defend  yourself,  Jewess,  if  you  can  ! 
(Deborah  shakes  her  head.) 

Peas.  Into  the  stream  with  her!  Death  to  the  Jewess  ! 

Lor.  {interposing).  My  good  men  ! Martha  ! Are  you  mad  1 

Peas.  To  the  stream  with  her  ! {great  clamor.) 

Pas.  Listen  to  me,  my  children  ! 

Anna  {beseechingly).  Good  friends  ! 

Martha  and  Peasants.  To  the  stream  ! Stone  her  ! Death  to  the 
Jewess ! 

Pas.  {forcing  his  way  between  the  crowd  and  Deborah,  who  stands  im- 
movable, pale  and  statute -like).  Men,  Women,  are  you  all  mad  I What 
harm  has  this  woman  done  to  you  1 

Mar.  The  voice  of  the  people  is  the  voico  of  Heaven  ! 

Pas.  The  voice  of  Heaven  speaks  by  tiie  lips  of  its  ordained  minister. 
Misguided  creatures,  back  ! Daughter  of  J udea,  tremble  no  more  ; a 
Christian  priest  stretches  forth  his  saving  liand  1 {he  is  about  to  place  his 
hand  upon  her  head — she  utters  a low  cry,  and  crouches  trembling  violently.) 

Mar.  Ah  1 see  ! see  her  shrink  from  a Christian’s  touch! 

Peas.  Stone  her  ! stone  the  impious  wretch! 

Pas.  {keeping  back  the  crowd).  My  cliildren  remember  ! “ Let  him 

among  you  who  is  without  sin  cast  the  first  stone.”  the  crowd  shrink  back 
slowly  and  moodily^ 

Several  Voices.  She  wont  escape  us  ! 

Pas.  {when  all  have  fallen  back,  crossing  to  r.).  Go  your  w'ay  in  peace. 
(Deborah  turns  slowly  away — the  Crowd  murmur.) 

Lor.  (^0  Pastor).  Let  us  guard  her  to  the  boundary  of  the  district; 
her  life  is  not  safe. 

Mar.  (c.).  We’ve  a pretty  kind  of  Pastor,  and  a Burgomaster  to 
match,  {murmurs  again — Deborah  moves  across  the  stage  to  l. — meets 
Joseph  as  he  enters,  l.) 

Debor.  {in  a low  agitated  tone  ).  Joseph  ! 

Jos.  {in  the  same  tone).  Deborah!  you  here ! 

Debor.  I came  to  seek  you. 

Jos.  1 have  been  seeking  you — far  away. 

Debor.  And  I find  you  but  to  part  from  you  ! {hesitatingly.)  Farewell 
—till  we  meet  again.  . 

Jos.  In  the  wood,  by  the  ruined  cross. 

Debor.  Heaven  preserve  you  ! Adieu  ! 

Jos.  Away  ! away,  Deborah.  [Exit  Deborah,  l. — the  Peasants,  vnth 
Old  Martha,  go  off  at  different  sides,  talking  and  gesticulating. 

Lor.  (c.,  to  Joseph,  angrily).  So!  you  have  found  your  way  back, 
after  scandalizing  your  father  and  the  whole  congregation  by  your  ab- 
sence from  church.  This  evening.  Pastor,  I’ll  ask  you  to  give  me  half  an 
hour  at  my  house,  {turning  to  Joseph)  I shall  then  have  a serious  word 
to  say  to  you. 

Jos.  (l.  c.).  I shall  not  be  at  home  this  evening,  father. 

Lor.  Indeed  ! and  why,  may  I ask  I 

Jos.  If  I were  free  to  tell  you,  father,  I would  do  so  without  being 
(piestioned. 

Lor.  Very  well — very  well ! take  your  own  wild  course  ! But  mark 
me,  you  may  one  day  find  it  more  difficult  to  win  back  your  father’s  love 
than  it  was  to  lose  it.  Understand  meanwhile,  that  it  is  my  wish  that  yon 


ACT  ii 


9 


should  remain  at  Home  this  evening.  [Exit  with  Pastor,  r. — Joseph 
ivnuf/s  his  hands  with  an  expression  of  grief . 

Anna  {pleading,  crossing  to  him).  Obey  our  father,  Joseph. 

Jos.  I cannot. 

Anna.  Where  are  you  going  again  this  evening  ? 

Jos.  Mus  I be  questioned  even  by  you,  Anna? 

Anna.  There  was  a time  Joseph,  when  you  confided  in  me  without 
need  of  question  on  my  part ! Have  we  not  always  confided  in  each 
other?  (Joseph  sigh^)  See  this  silver  ring:  you  bought  it  for  me,  the 
first  time  you  went  to  market,  five  years  ago. 

Jos.  Those  were  happy  days,  Anna. 

Anna.  Ah  ! Joseph,  if  they  are  less  happy  now 

Jos.  {he  paces  to  and  fro  for  a moment  and  then  takes  her  hand). 
Anna 

Anna.  There  is  something  on  your  mind. 

Jos.  Something  on  my  mind  ! 

Anna.  Oh,  yes  ! I can  see  it  plainly.  But  tell  me  the  cause  of  your 
disquiet.  You  are  no  longer  happy  beneath  your  father’s  roof.  It  al- 
most seems  as  if  some  evil  spirit  had  seized  upon  you.  You  are  ever 
anxious,  and  wander  about  nearly  as  restlessly  as  that  poor  Jewess  who 
was  here  just  now. 

Jos.  What  w’as  she  doing  here  ? 

Anna.  I do  not  know.  But  oh  ! they  threatened  to  kill  the  poor  crea- 
ture. 

Jos.  (starting).  To  kill  her  ! Who  1 

ANNi\4  All 

Jos.  on,  heavens  ! Farewell,  Anna ! {going  toward  l.) 

Anna,  {holding  him).  Stay,  Joseph!  Think  of  your  father’s  wish! 

Jos.  (releasing  himself).  I must  go  ! 1 must ! {hurries  out  l.) 

Anna  {looking  after  him,  sadly).  Heaven  and  the  Virgin  watch  over 
and  protect  him. 

Scene  closes  in. 

SCENE  II. — A Wood;  a ruined  Stone  Cross,  l,  ; night. 

Enter  Deborah,  slowly,  l. 

Debor.  (c.).  Oh,  gentle  silence  of  night!  how  grateful  art  thou  to 
the  troubled  soul — liow  balm-like  liealing  ! The  weary  mother  and  her 
child  sleep  in  yonder  hut,  and  blind  old  Abraham  lies  at  the  threshold 
— a sightless  guardian!  They  need  me  not ; angels  watch  over  the  sleep- 
ing! Come,  Jo.seph  ! I wake  and  wait  for  thee  with  love-laden  heart,  and 
thoughts  that  turn  to  prayers  for  thee  ! Come,  love,  and  find  a prayer 
upon  my  lips!  {she  is  about  to  kneel,  but  suddenly  sees  the  cross,  and  rushes 
from  it  to  R.  c , trembling)  Why  do  I always  tremble  when  I behold  this 
symbol  1 as  if  my  gaze  had  rested  on  a spectre  ! {moonlight  streams  down 
upon  the  spot  where  she  is  standing)  Oh  ! tranquil-faced  moon,  I turn  to 
thee  and  darkness  leaves  my  soul ! Hail  ! to  thee,  whom  I have  known 
from  my  life’s  earliest  years  when,  with  sacred  taper  in  my  hand,  I fol- 
lowed my  father  in  the  clear  night  and  heard  him  bless  thy  divine  reful- 
gence ! And  as  he  lifted  up  his  hands  and  prayed,  {raising  her  hands) 
so  I — but  not  for  scattered  Israel  nor  devastated  Zion — pray  to  thee,  for 
him  who  is  my  life’s  life  ! {she  stands  statue-like,  gazing  upwards.) 

Enter  Joseph,  l 


Joft.  (goiag  to  c.),  Deborah  ! 


10 


DEBORAH. 


Debor.  {turning  and  rushmg  into  his  arms).  Joseph  ! 

Jos.  {embracing  her).  My  pooi’  tiearl ! 

Debor.  Oh,  no ! not  poor,  when  I have  thee ! Press  my  hand,  sweet 
love ! look  into  my  eyes  ! one  kiss ! {she  kisses  him)  Poor  ! is  there  on 
earth  a queen  so  rich  as  I 7 

Jos.  My  own  one  ! 

Debor.  Tell  me  you  love  me,  Joseph. 

Jos.  Love  you  ! 

Debor.  I know  you  do! — have  known  it  even  from  the  day  when,  and 
when  only,  I questioned  you  as  to  your  religious  faith,  and  you  answered 
me — ‘‘  Deborah,  God  is  love  ! ” 

Jos.  Yes,  yes,  I love  you,  Deborah,  with  a love  that  holds  no  terms 
with  other  hopes  or  other  faith  1 that  binds  my  reason,  my  feelings,  and 
my  will,  as  in  the  bondage  of  a sweet  spell  I 

Debor.  Oh,  Joseph,  so  be  it! — if  you  can  teach  yourself  to  know  all 
the  sweetness  treasured  in  this  mystery  ! Such,  in  the  old,  happy  time, 
was  the  veiled  sanctuary  of  Solomon’s  temple  ! Such  are  the  l ich  pearls 
and  corals  that  lie  in  the  unbounded  depths  of  the  sea,  unprofaned  by 
the  eyes  of  men!  Within  the  folded  wings  of  this  angelic  mvsiery  we 
are  to  each  other  all  that  is.  Let  us  turn  our  faces  to  the  promised  land 
and  take  our  way,  blessing  heaven  and  rejoicing  ! 

Jos.  Yes,  love,  we  will  go  ! You  have  burst  asunder  the  felteis  of 
prejudice  that  held  me  a dull  slave  to  others’  wills  ! Henceforth,  I share 
with  you  the  wide  world  which  heaven  made  free,  and  gave  for  its  sole 
ruler — ^love  ! {speaking  quickly)  Eight  days  journey  hence  will  bring  us  to 
the  sea;  beyond,  there  lies  a virgin  land,  where  no  religion  tramples  on 
the  sanctity  of  love.  There  we  will  till  a patch  of  Heaven’s  own  earth, 
and  worship  Heaven  in  the  perfection  of  our  human  happiness  ! Deborah, 
you  weep  ! 

Debor.  No,  I but  breathed  a prayer — that  we  may  never  outlive  this 
moment’s  transport! 

Jos.  Amen  to  that  sweet  prayer  ! I am  now  resolved  and  happy.  To- 
night I will  reveal  all  to  ray  father. 

Debor.  To  your  father  1 

Jos.  Yes,  Deborah,  I will  do  my  duty  as  a son — though  I have  no 
hope  of  bending  my  father’s  opposition.  You  saw  to-day  how  they  are 
blinded — even  to  threatening  you,  my  beloved,  with  death  ! 

Debor  I heard  nothing — ray  thoughts  were  with  you  ! 

Jos.  I have  resolved  to  be  a priest  of  the  rights  of  man,  and  it  shall 
be  so ! If  my  father  will  not  listen  to  me,  I will  cross  the  seas  with  my 
love,  {embracing  her)  Oh,  Deborah  ! will  you  follow  me  7 

Debor.  As  the  shadow  waits  upon  the  sun  ! But,  oh.  Heaven  ! what 
will  become  of  my  aged  companion,  and  of  the  infant?  I am  everything 
to  them— hands,  feet,  eyes  ! How  shall  I leave  them  ? {looking  off,  l., 
sadly.) 

.los.  Deborah! 

Debor.  I follow  you  ! I follow  you  ! 

Jos.  My  wife!  At  midnight,  by  the  garden  hedge,  where  the  aged 
lime  tree  grows,  and  the  roads  cross,  I will  await  you,  and  from  that  spot 
we  will  start  upon  our  new  life-path!  You  will  come? 

J)ebor.  I will  come!  I will  come! 

Jos.  Mine,  then,  dear  one,  for  ever  I 

Debor.  {placing  her  hccnds  upon  his  head).  May  heaven  prosper  thee, 
love.  Farewell ! 

Joseph  moves  a few  steps,  l.,  then  turns  and  they  rush  into  each  other's  arms. 

After  a last  passionate  embrace,  exit  Joseph,  r.,  Deborah,  more  sloW' 


ACT  T. 


11 


ly^  L.  The  moonlight  fades  away^  as  if  a cloud  had  passed  over  the 
moon's  face.  As  soon  as  the  stage  is  dark^  the  Schoolmaster  creeps 
stealthily  across^  following  Joseph's  steps. 

SCENE  III. — A Room  in  Lorenz’s  House  ; night ; a table  with  two  chairs^ 

L.  C. 

Enter  Anna  and  Joseph,  r. 

Anna  {soothingly).  Come,  come,  Joseph,  for  my  sake,  take  courage— 
he  is  already  much  better. 

Jos.  (c.,  gloomily).  A curse  is  on  me  \ 

Anna.  Do  not  say  so.  No,  no ! such  dreadful  words  never  rose  to 
your  father’s  lips.  Ah,  Joseph,  if  you  had  not  kept  your  secret  so  close- 
ly locked  in  your  own  breast 

Jos.  Wtiat  could  confession  have  done  1 Oh,  Anna  ! when  her  great 
eyes  looked  into  the  depths  of  my  soul,  and  awakened  into  life  the  germ 
of  love  which  they  first  discovered  there,  their  ua/.e  possessed  me  as 
with  a talismanic  povver,  from  which  I could  never  inore  free  my  spirit ! 
And  when  1 saw  her  sufferings — saw  her  hunted  upon  the  face  of  the 
earth — what  could  I but  pray  to  be  the  angel  of  her  salvation  1 For- 
give me,  Anna,  if  I have  ceased  to  be 

Anna.  Hush,  Joseph ! love  her,  and  let  my  consolation  be  in  helping 
you  to  soften  the  rigors  of  her  fate. 

Jos.  Dear  Anna!— ha  ! my  father! 

Anna  (taking  his  hand)  Come  and  meet  him. 

Jos.  I dare  not  1 

Enter  Lorenz,  r.,  leaning  on  the  Pastor’s  arm  ; he  is  pale,  as  if  he  had 
recently  been  ill,  Anna  stands  by  his  side,  the  Pastor,  r.  c. 

Lor.  (seating  himself,  c.).  Joseph,  my  son  ! (Joseph  rushes  to  him) 
I bless  you  ! you  see  my  wicked  passion  is  past ! Tell  me  all  your  secret, 
that  I may  know  how  best  to  show  you  how  much  I love  you! 

Jos.  (rising).  Let  me  still  remain  silent,  father. 

Lor.  You  love  this  Jewess,  then '? 

Jos.  I do,  father. 

Lor.  I am  calm,  you  see.  I will  make  no  attempt  to  move  you  by 
words;  but,  reflect,  Joseph,  that  another  such  fit  as  that  which  struck 
me  down  this  evening  might  leave  you  alone  in  the  woi-ld,  and  this  re- 
flection may  bring  back  to  your  mind  the  recollection  of  other  love  and 
other  duty.  (Joseph  grasps  his  hand)  Oh  ! call  up  the  image  of  this 
woman  ! then  say  whether  for  it  you  will  leave  all  else  who  love  you  ! 
This  woman,  Joseph — she  will  not  even  kneel  with  you  at  your  father’s 
grave,  because  the  cross  above  it  will  scare  hei*  thence  ! 

Jos.  Oh,  father — Pastor!  could  you  see  into  my  heart  and  know  how 
dearly  I love  you  all ! Oh  ! could  you  understand  how  deeply — how 
irrevocably — my  love  is  pledged  to  her  I But  tell  me  what  I sliould  do, 
and  Heaven  will  aid  me  to  do  it. 

Pas.  The  trial  will  be  a bitter  one,  my  son  ! 

Jos.  Tell  me  my  duty. 

Lor.  Do  you  seriously  trust  in  this  woman’s  love,  Joseph  ? 

Jos.  As  I trust  in  Heaven  itself! 

Lor.  Poor  boy  ! Do  you  think  that  for  no  consideration  she  would  be 
induced  to  leave  you  ? 

Jos.  Father! 


U.  or  ILL  LIB. 


12 


DEBOEAH. 


Lor.  Tlirou^hout  the  world  her  race  are  notoriously  greedy  of  m6 
ney  ; how,  if  for  a good  round  sum 

Jos.  Father!  for  Heavens  sake  spare  me  the  pain  of  listening  to  such 
vrords  ! 

Lor.  I have  lived  longer  in  the  world  than  you,  Joseph,  and  fancy  I 
have  seen  something  more  of  mankind.  Will  you  let  me  put  her  to  this 
proof  1 

Jos.  Father,  I feel  my  heart  scorched  with  shame  1 — but  I have  no 
longer  any  will  of  my  own.  Do  as  you  please. 

Enter  the  Schoolmaster,  l. 

S.  Mast.  (r.  c ).  Why  this  is  well,  Burgomaster — on  your  feet  again  ! 
^^aside  to  him^  mysteriously)  I have  more  news  to  tell  you! 

Lor.  Speak  out,  my  friend  ; there  a e no  longer  any  secrets  among 
us.  Joseph,  take  this  key,  {ogives  kexj)  and  in  the  safe  in  my  room  here, 
you  will  find  a bag  of  money — go  and  fetch  it  for  me.  (Joseph  goes  out^ 
R.,  wrapped  in  thought)  Now,  Schoolmaster,  I want  you  to  find  out  this 
Jewess. 

S.  Mast.  That  I can  easily  do ; for  I have  discovered  these  wretches’ 
haunt. 

Pas.  {anxiously).  You  will  let  me  or  Anna  go  with  him? 

Anna  {pleadingly).  Yes  ; let  me  go  with  him  ! 

Lor.  No  ; let  him  go  alone.  1 am  about  to  act  upon  your  suggestion, 
Schoolmaster,  and  send  her  a sum  of  money,  which  I wish  to  give  her, 
on  condition  that  she  immediately  takes  her  departure. 

Anna.  Do  not  speak  too  severely  to  he^-,  good  Schoolmaster. 

Pas.  There  is  no  need  to  terrify  her,  j)oor  creature. 

S.  Mast.  Trust  me,  I will  do  my  errand,  and  it  will  be  a labor  of  lo^e 

free  the  air  of  our  village  from  the  contamination  of  her  Jewish  breath ! 

Me-enter  Joseph,  with  a hag  of  money ^ which  he  gives  to  his  father. 

Lor.  Do  nothing  but  offer  her  the  money,  and  await  her  answ"^r. 
{gives  hag  to  Schoolmaster.) 

S.  Mast.  Leave  all  to  me,  Burgomaster,  {aside)  To-night  my  tortu  ’es 
shall  be  ended.  [Exit,  l. 

Lor.  {rising).  Come,  Pastor,  let  us  have  a bottle  before  you  leave  us  ! 
I feel  strong  again,  since  my  boy  is  likely  to  be  himself  once  more  I Go 
into  my  room,  children.  (Joseph  sighs  and  goes  out,  r , followed  hy  Ak  a 
watching  him  anxiously)  Do  they  not  look,  those  two.  Pastor  as  if  He?  ven 
had  made  them  for  man  and  wife  ? Shall  we  ever  live  to  see  t/  em 
wedded  1 [Exeunt,  n, 

SCENE  IV. — A rocky  hillside,  beneath  which  is  a miserable  hut,  E ; a 
stormy  night ; distant  thunder  and  lightning. 

Enter  Deborah,  l.,  leading  Abraham,  and  carrying  a hag, 

Abraham.  Does  the  moon  shine,  Deborah  1 

Debor.  (c.).  It  struggles  with  the  clouds. 

Abrah.  Set  my  face  towards  it,  daughter.  (Deborah  does  so,) 

Enter  a Jewess, /rom  the  hut 

Jewess  (r.).  Have  you  brought  us  anything? 

Dsbor.  (giving  hag).  Yes  j potatoes,  bread,  and  wine. 


ACT  I. 


13 


Jew.  Where  did  you  get  them  ? 

Debor.  Take  ihem,  and  thank  Heaven, 

Jew.  Blessings  on  your  hand,  but  for  which  we  should  all  have  per- 
ished ! [Exit  into  hut. 

Abra.h.  {who  has  been  standing  with  hn  face  upraised).  Lead  me  to  the 
door,  Deborah.  I am  weary,  and  would  rest. 

Debor.  Come,  then. 

Abrah.  (r.  c.).  Blessed  be  the  hand  that  guides  me  ! Light  streams 
from  your  fingers,  Deborah,  and  when  you  aie  by  me  stars  are  in  the 
darkness  of  my  nishi,  and  my  foot  stumbles  not ! (Deborah  leads  him 
into  the  door  of  the  hut. ) 

Debor.  {turning  from  the  door).  And  when  I am  gone  ? Eternal 
Heaven — no  hand  to  feed  the  hungry  mother — no  hand  to  guide  the 
sightless  old  man  ! Yet  do  I go — yet,  do  I abandon  them ; I belong  no 
more  to  them  or  to  myself  j I am  his  alone  ! {with  fervor)  0 Divine 
Father ! mercifully  shelter  these  poor  children  of  adversity,  Thou,  who 
art  the  shield  of  our  people,  the  God  of  Israel  ! {she  goes  to  the  hut  door 
and  looks  within)  Farewell!  {bursts  into  tears)  Farewell  ! Bear  up,  0,  my 
heart  I Joseph  1,  am  yours  ! yours  ! {the  storm  seems  to  come  nearer.') 

[Exit,  R. 

Enter  the  Schoolmaster,  mysteriously.  , 

S.  Mast.  (c.).  This  is  the  spot.  For  fifteen  years  I have  lived  in  se- 
curity— for  fifteen  years  not  one  of  this  accursed  race  has  come  to  bring 
danger  to  me  ; and  these  shall  be  driven  hence  ! they  shall  not  cloud  my 
life!  Last  night,  a voice  that  seemed  to  call  me  by  my  former  name, 
cried  to  me  in  my  troubled  sleep.  1 shut  my  ears  and  tried  to  fly  from 
the  terrific  sound  ; but  a hand  was  laid  upon  my  head  and  a Jewish  face 
peered  into  mine,  and  a Jewish  voice  whispered  mockingly,  ‘I  know 
your  secret!”  And  instantly,  the  whole  village  was  about  me,  and 
every  man,  woman,  and  child  called  me  by  that  fatal  name  I A life  of 
such  torture  would  be  worse  than  ten  thousand  deaths  ! ITl  free  my- 
self ! {lightning  and  heavy  thunder)  Ho,  there  1 {going  to  r.  and  calling) 
Ho,  there  1 

Jew.  {at  the  hut  door).  Good  sir,  what  want  you  of  your  servant  ? 

S.  Mast.  Are  there  any  more  of  you  in  this  den  ? 

Jew.  Only  a poor  blind  man  and  a little  infant  I We  are  doing  no 
harm. 

S.  Mast.  No  harm  ! Don’t  you  know  that  it  .is  against  the  law  for 
any  Jew  to  pass  the  night  in  this  district'! 

Jew.  We  were  on  our  aw'ay  to  Bohemia,  when  terror  caused  me  to 
give  birth  to  ray  infant. 

S.  Mast.  How  did  you  reach  this  hut 

Jew.  She  brought  us  here. 

S.  Mast.  She? 

Jew.  Deborah,  the  daughter  of  the  learned  Rabbi  David. 

S.  Mast.  Well,  you  must  away,  the  whole  of  you  1 Where  is  this 
Deborah  ? 

Jew.  In  the  vineyard,  yonder.  But,  oh  ! must  we  leave  this  place  1 

S.  Mast.  Yes,  and  at  once  too  ! {lightning  and  thunder.) 

Jew.  Have  pity  on  us,  worshipful  sir. 

S.  Mast.  You  will  be  escorted  over  the  district  boundary,  on  the  road 
to  Bohemia. 

Jew.  {surprised).  On  the  road  to  Bohemia  ? 

S.  Mast.  And  you  will  be  supplied  with  food  by  the  way,  and  money 
besides. 

Jew.  {joyfully).  And  money  1 


14 


DEBOEAH. 


S.  Mast.  But  you  must  take  the  other  woman  with  you — this  De- 
borah ! 

Jew.  Money  1 Oh!  she  will  come  with  us — why  should  she  notl 
Food  and  money  ! 

S.  Mast.  You  must  be  off  at  once,  and  undertake  never  again  to  re« 
turn. 

Jew.  {calling).  Deborah!  Deborah!  Abraham!  we  are  saved  2 
Money ! 

S.  Mast.  You  will  answer  for  the  other  two  ? {gives  hag  of  money. ^ 

Jew.  Oh,  yes  ! and  bless  you  in  their  name  ! {counting  the  money)  Tenf 
twenty  1 thirty  ! — A thousand  blessings  on  you,  worshipful  sir  ! Deborah! 
Deborah  ! \Exit  into  hut  as  Abraham  comes  from  the  door. 

Abrah.  {coming  from  hut).  I hear  a stranger’s  voice — and  yet  a voice 
that  is  not  strange  to  me  ! {thunder.) 

S.  Mast,  {aside,  nervously).  Who  is  this  old  man  '] 

Jew.  {coming  from  the  door,  her  child  slung  at  her  breast,  and  a bundle  on 
her  arm).  W©  have  money,  Abraham,  and  food,  brought  us  by  this 
worshipful  man  1 Kiss  our  preserver’s  hand  ! 

S.  Mast,  {shrinking  bach).  I want  no  thanks — only  away  with  you! 

Abrah.  (r.  c.).  That  voice  ! 1 recognize  it  now  ! At  Presburg,  there 
dwelt  a man  named  Nathan,  precentor  of  the  school 

S.  Mast,  {trembling — aside).  Who  is  this  ? 

Abrah.  Nathan  had  a son — an  apostate — who  went  away  as  a baptized 
Christian 

S.  Mast,  wild  excitement).  This  old  man  is  mad! 

Abrah.  Leaving  his  father  to  die  in  want  and  misery  ! The  old  man 
died  in  my  arms  ! 

S.  Mast.  He’s  mad,  I say!  Begone — begone  from  this  place  for 
ever  ! {thunder.) 

Abrah.  The  tone  of  Nathan’s  last  words  is  still  fresh  in  my  ears  ! 

S.  Mast,  {with  increasing  terror).  No  more!  Begone! 

Abrah.  It  is  his  voice  that  now  speaks  ! You  are  N^athan’s  son  ! 

S.  Mast.  Away  with  this  madam,  or  the  law  .shall  take  it’s  coursOj 
and  drag  you  off  to  Jail  ! 

Jew.  {eagerly  seizing  Abraham).  Come,  come,  father,  {harries  him  off, 
L.)  He  means  no  harm — no  harm,  worshipful  sir! 

S.  Mast,  (c- — looks  fearfully  around,  then  covers  his  face  with  his  hands). 
My  father  dead — in  want  and  misery  ! And  this  man  knows  my  terrible 
secret!  But  no'  they  will  never  believe  him!  I,  who  have  lived  for 
fifteen  years  amongst  them,  scrupulous  in  all  Christian  observances,  they 
would  never  believe  this  old  man’s  story,  even  should  he  tell  it ! Let 
me  be  calm.  No,  no ! I have  nothing  to  fear,  for  I have  seen  the  last 
of  them  ! {thunder  rain,  and  wind)  Courage,  Nathan  ! you  have  but 
your  own  cowardice  to  dread.  One  word  to  the  Burgomaster,  to  tell  him 
that  she  is  gone.  No  ; I have  nothing  more  to  fear  ! [Exit,  r. 

SCENE  V. — A farm-yard ; house  with  door,  r.,  the  front  covered  with 
vines  ; corn-stacks,  ^c  ; a rustic  gate  at  back,  l.  c.  from  which  a path 
leads  over  the  side  of  a low  hill ; at  the  outer  side  of  the  path,  R.  c.,  a 
stream,  breaking  over  rocks  ; night ; storm  continued. 

Enter  Deborah,  over  the  hillside,  at  back,  and  through  the  gate. 

Debor.  {coming  down  to  c. ).  He  comes  not  to  the  appointed  spot,  and 
ha  is  not  here  ! What  doubt  is  this  that  fills  me  with  terror  ? Will  he 
not  come  I {lightning)  Oh,  is  Heaven  angry  with  me  1 Josepli  ' oh. 


ACT  I.  15 

come  to  rae,  for  my  heart  faints  ! {she  staggers  to  the  door,  r.,  listens,  then 
knocks  timidly,  Lorenz  oyens  the  door)  Ah,  is  it  you,  Joseph  1 

Lor.  Who  is  there  ? 

Debor.  {hiding  herself  beside  the  hou^e,  r.).  His  father  ! 

Lor.  {coming  out  and  recognizing  her).  What!  is  it  3^00?  {she  crosses  to 
L.  c.)  Have  you  not  yet  done  harm  enough  to  ray  poor  son  by  your 
wicked  acts,  but  do  you  want  once  more  to  lure  him  from  his  home  and 
peace  of  mind  ? 

Debor.  Home  ! peace  of  mind ! 

Lor.  You  will  labor  in  vain.  At  length  he  knows  you  I knows  that 
she  who  could  forsake  him  for  money,  loved  for  money,  lied  for  money  1 

Debor.  All-seeing  Heaven  5 what  is  this  mystery,  of  which  thou  know- 
est  I know  nothing  1 

Lor.  You  know  that  money  was  offered  to  you,  and  joyfully  accepted  \ 

Deboe.  Money  ! I have  seen  none  ! I swear  before  Heaven  ! {thunder.) 

Lor.  Dare  not  to  provoke  it’s  fiery  anger  I but  get  you  gone!  (De- 
borah makes  an  appealing  gesture^  Go,  I say  I and  trouble  us  no  more  ! 
{goes  towards  door,  r..) 

Debor.  {rushing  to  him).  Let  me  see  him  • Oh,  let  rae  see  him  once 
again  ! 

Lor.  {repulsing  her).  Silence  ! begone,  1 say  again! 

Debor.  {falling  at  his  feet  and  embracing  his  knees).  Have  mercy  OD 
me  ! I must  see  him—  and  then — and  then  1 will  leave  you. 

Enter  Anna,  from  the  house. 

Anna.  What  is  the  matter  ? Ah  ! you  here  ? 

Debor.  Thanks  be  to  Heaven  ! You  are  the  kind  woman  who  lately 
gave  drink  to  the  thirsting.  Oh,  I am  now  athirst,  and  the  springs  of  my 
life  will  dry  up  within  me  if  you  stretch  not  forth  your  hand.  If  you 
believe  in  love,  bring  him — oh,  bring  him  to  rae  1 

Anna  {sadly).  I do  believe  in  love ; but  not  in  such  as  yours. 

Debor.  You  also  ! 

Anna.  I had  pleaded  for  you,  and  was  even  prepared  to  give  up  to  you 
my  young  life’s  treasure — the  treasure  you  have  bartered  for  a few  vile 
pieces  of  gold ! 

Debor.  {moving  to  l.  c.,  and  putting  her  hand  to  her  forehead).  Am  I 
mad  1 Gold  I gold  ! what  do  1 know  of  goldl 

Anna  {softly).  I can  only  pity  you.  Go,  and,  if  3^ou  can,  be  happy. 
{goes  towards  the  door — thunder^ 

Debor.  {sombrely).  Alas  ! ill-deeds  carry  with  them  their  own  pun- 
ishment! I deserted  them  in  the  darkness  of  night,  and  in  the  dark- 
ness of  the  night  am  I now  left  desolate.  No  ! 

Enter  Joseph, /row  the  house. 

Jos.  (c.).  You  here! 

Debor.  {rushing  tuards  him).  The  sun  is  new  risen,  and  night,  sin, 
and  sorrow  are  passed  away.  What  care  I for  others’  tlioughts  of  me, 
so  long  as  I am  known  to  you  ? 

Jos.  {shrinking  from  her).  Yes,  known  to  me  too  well. 

Deror.  Joseph. 

Jos.  {bursting  into  tears).  Farewell  ! I forgive  you  that  you  have  filled 
my  soul  with  wretchedness — that  you  have  torn  me  from  a pure  and  in- 
nocent love — and  left  my  heart  to  break. 

Debor.  {pressing  her  hand  to  her  heart).  Sustain  rae,  Heaven. 

Jos.  Go!  and  that  you  may  not  have  come  hither  to  take  your  leave 


16 


DEBORAH. 


for  nothing,  add  this  to  the  gold  you  have  already  pocketed  to-night 
(throws  a purse  at  her  feet^  and  hurries  to  door^  though  which  Lorenz  and 
Anna  have  just  passed.) 

Debor.  (^almost  shrieking).  Joseph  ! Joseph  ! (she  rushes  to  the  door 
which  is  dashed  in  her  face)  Joseph  ! (she  falls  senseless — thunder  and  light- 
ning.') 

CURTAIN. 

A Week  supposed  to  elapse  between  the  First  and  Second  Acts, 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  I. — A room  in  the  Schoolmaster’s  House. — A table  c.,  a large 
easy  chair ^ r.  c. 

The  Schoolmaster  discovered  dozing  in  the  chair  in  a constrained  posture^ 
He  is  very  pale  and  dishevelled. 

Enter  Old  Martha,  l. 

Mar.  (speaking  as  she  enters).  Neighbor  Schoolmaster,  (seeing  hiin) 
Heaven  preserve  us.  Schoolmaster ! (going  to  him  and  trying  to  rouse 
him)  What  ails  you,  neighbor  % 

S.  Mast,  (waking  and  staring  at  her  wildly).  You  are  not  one  of  the.m. 

Mar.  Bless  us,  Schoolmaster!  what  has  happened  ? I am  Man  ha 
old  Martha ! 

S.  Mast,  (clutching  her  arm).  I know!  1 know.  Tell  me,  are  they 
gone?  You’ve  seen  no  more,  heard  no  more  of  them  'I 

Mar.  Do  not  clutch  me  so  tightly,  good  neighbor  ! Of  wiiom  are  you 
speaking  ? 

S.  Mast,  (rises,  comes  forward  with  her,  c.,  at  the  same  time  lowering 
his  voice  and  looking  round  suspiciously).  Of — of  those  accursed  Jews  that 
were  here  a week  ago.  An  old  blind  man  amongst  them.  Heed  me 
well,  Martha,  that  old  man  lied!  lied! 

Mar.  What  said  he,  neighbor  ? 

S.  Mast,  (looking  at  her  wildly).  You  are  a spy!  Take  care!  take 
care  ! I'll  not  be  driven  mad  by  prowling  spies  and  lying  blind  men  ! 

Mar.  Schoolmaster!  let  me  fetch  a doctor  j you  are  ill.  {offering  U 

90 ) 

S.  Mast,  (seizing  her).  No,  no  ! you  shall  not  leave  my  sight!  I know 
— I see  it  in  your  face,  you  want  to  betray  me. 

Mar.  Pray  do  not  hurt  me,  neighbor  ! 1 am  very  old. 

S.  Mast.  Old  1 he  was  old — but  he  lied,  1 tell  you,  he  lied.  Speak 
you  the  truth  i How  long  have  I lived  in  this  village  ? Speak  the 
truth. 

Mar.  Near  fifteen  years,  good  Schoolmaster. 

S.  Mast.  That’s  right  I Now,  tell  the  truth  again!  swear  it.  In  all 
that  time — in  sickness  or  in  health — have  I ever  been  remiss  in  my 
duties  as — as  a Christian  ? If  you  speak  falsely  I’ll  put  a cur.se  upon 
you  ! Beware ! 

Mar.  (terrified).  Indeed,  indeed — no  one  has  ever  been  more  strict  in 
his  religious  duties  ! 

S.  Mast,  (glaring  at  her  wildly).  Ha ! you  are  playing  with  words  I 
As  a Christian  1 as  a Christian  I 


ACT  n. 


17 


Mar.  As  a good  Christian  ! I meant  nothing  else. 

S.  Mast.  Swear  it ! 

Mar.  You  terrify  me,  neighbor.  What  other  meaning  could  my 
words  have  1 

S.  Mast.  Swear  you  meant  that  I had  done  my  duties  as  a Chris- 
tian ! 

Mar  I swear  it ! I meant  nothing  else. 

S.  Mast  Take  care  you  do  not  wander  from  that  point,  or  change  a 
word  if  Olliers  question  youj  for  this  lying  old  man  has  made  me  des- 
perate. ril  not  have  my  fifteen  long  years’  work  destroyed  by  a lying 
word  ! my  life  blasted  ! — I’ll  not  be  driven  forth  an  outcast. 

Mar.  Heaven  forbid  ! But  calm  yourself,  neighbor. 

S.  Mast.  I cannot!  I cannot  1 I shall  never  becalm  until  I know  that 
they  are  gone — till  he  is  gone,  or  dead,  or  dead  ! 

Mar.  Let  me  send  our  Pastor  to  you. 

S.  Mast.  No,  no  I he’s  dangerous  ! he’d  bring  them  back,  and  that 
would  drive  me  mad  1 or  dye  my  hands  in  blood. 

Mar.  For  Heaven’s  love,  Schoolmaster,  do  not  say  such  dreadful 
things. 

S.  Mast.  Martha!  you  do  not  know  what  fear — what  fear  of  a word, 
will  drive  innocent  men  to  do  ! {walking  to  and  fro  in  half  delirious  excite- 
ment.) 

Mar.  (c.).  You  terrify  me. 

S.  Mast.  (l.  c.).  If  that  old  man’s  word,  that  now  stuns  me  like  the 
pealing  of  a great  bell,  were  to  fall  on  your  ears  ! 

Mar.  {shrinking  from  him).  Neighbor! 

S.  Mast,  {wildly),  Ha  ! what  have  I said  1 

Mar.  Nothing  ! indeed  you  have  told  me  nothing  ! 

S.  Mast.  Why  do  you  shrink  from  me  then  I why  do  you  glare  at 
me  with  horror,  as  if  I were  one  of  that  accursed  race  ! No ! no  ! not 
that!  Martha!  you  see  that  I am  ill — my  mind  distempered- — vou 
must  not  heed  my  words,  or  looks;  and  you  must  not  speak  or  what  you 
have  seen  and  heard,  {staggers  to  chair,) 

Mar  I vou  I will  not. 

S.  Mast  '-^sinking  back  into  his  chair  and  bursting  into  tears').  Praj’’  for 
me,  Martha ! if  I have  at  any  time  done  evil,  see  how  1 repent  with 
tears  of  agony  ! Pray  for  me  ! 

Mar.  {kneeling  by  kis  chair  and  taking  his  hand  soothingly).  Heaven  bless 
us  all ! I pray  for  you  neighbor  ! I pray  for  you  ! 

Beene  closes  in. 

SCENE  II.— ^ room  in  the  Pastor’s  house.  Large  open  door,  l. 

Enter  Anna,  r.,  in  bridal  dress,  a wreath  in  her  hand. 

Anna  (c.).  I know  not  why  I am  anxious  and  heavy-hearted.  Oli  ! 
have  I done  wrong  ? Have  f not  a claim  to  him,  founded  on  the  inex- 
pressible love  I feel  for  him  1 {surveying  herself)  How  gayly  they  ha'e 
dressed  me  ! Beloved  flowers — gathered  from  the  grave  of  my  parents 
— {kissing  the  flowers  in  her  bosom) — come  with  me  to  the  altar,  as  if  ymu 
were  the  spirits  of  the  dear  departed  watching  over  me.  {putting  on  her 
wreath)  Be  you  my  father  s liand  laying  a blessing  on  my  head!  Ohl 
how  my  heart  grows  lighter  ! Parents,  I thank  you ! 

Enter  Joseph,  also  in  bridal  attire,  door  l. 


18 


BEBOKAH. 


Jos,  My  gentle  wife  ! 

Anna  {holding  out  both  hands  to  him).  My  husband  I 

Jos.  Oh,  Anna!  have  you  with  all  your  heart  forgiven  me  ? 

Anna.  Forgiven  you,  Joseph  ? 

Jos.  Forgiven  me  for  ever  having  loved 

Anna.  Hush  ! Speak  no  more  of  that.  I prayed  then  that  you  might 
be  happy ! 

Jos.  And  I am  happy,  Anna — happy  through  you  ! It  was  your  hand 
delivered  me.  Ah  ! let  me  kiss  and  hold  it  to  my  heart  forever  I 
Anna  {smiling).  You’ll  think  no  more  of  crossing  the  seas  1 
Jos.  {with  passionate  expression).  On  my  knees  I beg  forgiveness  of  this 
kind  land  that  gave  me  birth,  for  ever  having  thought  of  deserting  it! 
No,  no ; my  heart  shall  never  again  know  one  desire  that  would  tempt 
it  beyond  the  shadow  of  the  old  lime  trees  that  grow  about  your  home ! 
You  are  henceforth  my  world,  Anna  ! 

Anna.  It  shall  be  a bright  world  to  you,  Joseph,  if  boundless  love 
can  make  it  bright ! 

Jos.  And  should  the  recollection  of  the  past  ever  return  ? 

Anna.  It  shall  bring  no  darkness  with  it ! Only  believe  that  no  one 
ever  loved  you  so  fondly  and  truly  as  I.  {sounds  of  violins  playing  a simple 
march  without)  Let  us  go  in,  dear.  Here  come  the  neighbors. 

[Exeunt,  r. 

Enter  Old  Martha  door,  l.,  holding  a rosary  in  her  hand  ; Rose,  Peter, 
four  Fiddlers,  and  a crowd  0/ Peasants,  male  and  female,  who  group 
themselves  about,  the  Fiddlers  keeping  near  the  door.  All  wear  bou- 
quets. 

Mar.  (c.,  to  Rose  and  Peter).  Bridesmaid,  cf  course.  Nothing  less 
for  Old  Martha.  Ha  I ha  ! {coughs  ) 

Peter  (l.  c.).  And  you’ve  brought  the  happy  pair  a rosary,  as  you 
always  do  at  a wedding,  Martha. 

Mar.  Yes,  yes.  It  gives  good  luck.  There’s  not  been  a wedded  pair 
in  this  village  for  fifty  years  past  that  hasn’t  had  one  of  Old  Martha’s 
rosaries  to  carry  to  tlie  altar  with  them,  and  bring  them  good  luck  ever 
afterwards 

Peter  {fondly).  Rose. 

Rose  {coyly).  Yes,  Peter. 

Peter.  I was  only  going  to  say 

Rose.  Yes,  Peter. 

Petek.  It’s  of  no  consequence  just  now. 

Mar.  Ha!  ha!  {coughs)  Old  Martha  knows.  Well,  well,  when  your 
turn  comes,  you  shall  have  a rosary  for  good  luck,  never  fear.  And  my 
rosaries  do  bring  luckl  The  thread  the  beads  are  strung  upon  is  spun 
by  an  unstained  virgin  ; there’s  no  witchcraft  employed  in  making  them, 
but  they  are  put  together  while  three  paternosters  are  being  said,  {moves 
to  R.) 

Peter.  Rose ! 

Rose  {carelessly).  Yes,  Peter. 

Peter  What  I was  going  to  say  was 

Rose,  {brightening).  Yes,  Peter. 

Peter.  That — if  you’ve  no  objection  to  make 

Rose.  No,  Peter. 

Peter.  Here’s  tlie  Burgomaster  ! 

Omnes.  The  Burgomaster  ! — the  bridegroom’s  father! 


Enter  Lorenz,  in  holiday  dress,  door  l. 


ACT  II* 


19 


Lorenz,  (c.).  Good  day,  friends  all ! You  stand  by  me  in  the  day  of 
my  joy,  and  I will  stand  by  you  in  your  times  of  both  joy  and  trouble. 
You'll  foot  it  with  me  to-day,  Martha,  as  you  did  on  my  wedding  day  ? 
The  rosary  you  gave  me  was  buried  with  my  wife,  and  if  this  one  which 
you  are  going  to  give  my  children  only  finds  them  as  happy  ! —There  ! 
there ! I know  your  rosaries  always  bring  good  luck.  I'll  not  let  a 
cloudy  thought  come  into  my  head  to-day.  I’m  so  happy,  I would  rather 
dance  than  walk,  rather  sing  than  talk ! 

Mar.  (r.  c.).  When  the  sun’s  too  hot  in  the  morning,  it’s  like  to  rain 
in  the  evening.  Better  say  a paternoster  ! 

Enter j R.,  the  Pastor,  in  hisrohes^  leading  by  the  hand  ; Joseph /o^- 

lows  ; all  take  off  their  hats  ; movement  of  admiration  and  congratula- 
tion. 

Pas.  (c.).  Here  T part  with  you  as  your  uncle,  dear  niece.  I shall 
await  you  at  the  altar  to  pronounce  the  blessing  I am  permitted  to  con- 
vey from  above.  Farewell  ! {kisses  her)  You  are  not  about  to  enter  the 
dwelling  of  strangers.  The  man  to  whose  bosom  I confide  you  is  the 
friend  of  your  childhood,  to  whom  you  have  brought  back  peace  of 
heart,  and  tranquillity  of  life.  Be  always  good  and  religious,  and — if  it 
is  Heaven’s  will — you  will  be  happy  ! (Anna  kisses  his  hand ; as  he  goes 
out  the  Peasants  shake  hands  with  him.) 

[Exity  L.  D. — a small  peal  of  church  hells  heard  without. 

Lor.  Come,  children,  come  friends,  to  church!  {the  four  Fiddlers 
place  themselves  at  the  door  ; Lorenz  takes  his  place  next  them^  followed  by 
Joseph  and  Anna,  Rose,  Peter,  and  the  rest  bringing  up  the  rear?) 

Mar.  (c.).  Stay  all,  one  moment,  till  Old  Martha  has  given  the  bride- 
groom and  bride  her  present  I ( places  the  ro^'ary  about  the  joined  hands  of 
Joseph  and  Anna)  Take  care  of  it~it  will  bring  you  luck  I Do  not  let 
it  fall  during  the  wedding  ceremony  ! Do  not  lose  it — and  do  not  break 
it ! It  preserves  matrimonial  felicity,  and  it  guards  the  souls  of  the  chil- 
dren and  the  children’s  children.  Love  one  another  ! and  sometimes  say 
a paternoster  for  poor  Old  Martha  ! Now,  to  church ! 

Lor.  To  church  I Music,  strike  up  ! 

Peter.  Rose  ! I’ve  made  up  my  mind  to  say  to  you 

Rose  {eagerly).  Yes,  Peter. 

Peter.  Never  mind,  now.  I’ll  tell  you  presently,  {the  Fiddlers 
strike  up  a ivedding  march  ; the  procession  moves  out  at  the  door ; a volley 
of  guns  fired  ; shouts  ; the  sounds  die  away.) 

Mar.  (c.).  a good  wedding  I as  good  a one  as  ever  I saw  ! It  would 
have  done  our  Schoolmaster  good  to  have  seen  it,  could  he  have  dragged 
his  poor  sick  limbs  to  church  ! He’s  strangely  stricken  down,  our 
Schoolmaster  ! Heaven  shield  us  I but  I fear  witchcraft ! I’ll  go  cheer 
him  with  the  news  when  I’ve  been  to  the  church.  Heaven  send  we  ve  no 
witchcraft  amongst  us  ! {hobbles  out,  l.  d.) 

SCENE  III. — A Churchyard  ; the  side  of  the  church,  R.  ; the  window  slit  from 
within  ; a small  door  half  covered  by  foliage  ; lime  trees  on  either  side  ; 
a broken  column,  h.,  overshadowed  by  a willow;  at  back  the  boundary 
wall ; mountain  landscape  beyond.  Sunset. 

A crowd  of  Peasants,  Gipsies,  ^c.,  discovered,  some  lying  on  the  ground, 
others  looking  off,  r. — the  Gipsies  execute  a characteristic  dance  to  the 
music  of  the  zittern  and  tambourine ; several  old  Men,  Women,  and 
Children  going  round,  ic  collect  money — suddenly  those  looking  off,  r. 
call  out  “ The  Pastor  ! the  Pastor  ? ” — the  dance  is  stopped — the  Pastor 


20 


DEBOEA.H. 


enters^  R. , the  crowd  taking  off  their  hats^  he  gives  them  his  benediction^ 
and  passes  into  church  thruogh  the  side  door — guns  fired  off,  r. — shouts 
— Peasants  cry  “ Here  they  come  ! the  bride  and  bridegroom!’' 
and  all  press  forward  to  get  a sight  of  the  advancing  wedding-party — 
Enter  the  four  Fiddlers  playing,  r.,  followed  by  Lorenz,  Joseph 
and  Anna,  Peter  and  Rose,  %c.,  ^c. — the  crowd  Lorenz 

throws  some  money  to  the  Gipsies,  who  scramble  for  it,  shouting  and 
laughing — he  then,  with  Joseph,  Anna,  and  others,  enters  the  church. 

Peter  {lingering  with  Rose),  I’ve  been  thinking  as  we  came  along, 
Rose 

Rose  {brightly).  Lor,  Peter ! what  1 

Peter.  Wliy,  that  as  we  are  going  to  church  to  see  a couple  married, 
we  might  as  well — as  well 

Rose.  We  might  as  well — lake  the  opportunity 

Peter.  That’s  just  what  I’ve  b en  thinking — might  as  well  take  the 
opportunity  to — to — see  whether  they  seem  to  like  it. 

Rose  {nettled).  I think  we’d  belter  go  into  the  church,  before  all  the 
best  places  for  seeing  are  taken,  then. 

Peter  {still  lingering).  There  was  something  else  I thought  of. 

Rose  {softening  \ Yes,  Peter. 

Peter.  No,  I’d  better  not  stop  to  tell  you  now,  or  we  shall  be  too  late, 
{hurries  with  her  into  the  church.) 

Old  Martha  hobbles  from  r.,  and  enters  the  church,  followed  by  the  rest  of 
the  crowd- — during  the  action  of  the  scene  daylight  has  faded  into  twi- 
light, the  lights  in  the  church-windows  have  become  proportionately 
brighter — Enter  Deborah  from  behind  the  broken  column,  pale,  worn, 
and  dishevelled. 

Debor.  {coming  forward  to  c.)-  What  do  I seek?  I know  not — I know 
not!  The  arrow  whistles  throwgh  the  air — but,  at  what  ’tis  levelled  I 
know  not.  I must  remain.  Seven  days  have  passed — the  time  we  mourn 
for  our  dead.  By  the  bier’s  head  we  set  a lamp,  and  at  the  dead  one’s 
foot  we  crouch  and  weep,  {seats  herself  slowly,  l.)  Seven  days  and  seven 
nights  have  I wept  here  my  dead  love,  {with  passionate  grief)  Heaven — 
great  Heaven  ! hast  thou  not  made  me,  even  as  thou  hast  made  my  fel- 
low-creatures ? Hast  thou  not  created  love,  like  the  air  and  light,  to  be 
for  all  thy  children’s  good  alike?  Thou  took’st  from  me  father  and 
mother — thou  left’st  me  alone  and  unfiiended  in  thy  great  world,  witlj 
love  for  my  sole  possession.  Oh,  why  hast  thou  made  thine  own  gift  a 
torment  ? Even  as  I now  blindly  question,  I questioned  on  the  night 
when  first  I saw  him!  1 cried,  “ Ah  ! wiierefore  was  I created  I ” — and 
on  mine  eyes  his  form  arose,  a shape  of  light,  before  which  my  heart 
bowed  in  thankfulness  to  thee  that  thou  hadst  made  me.  {with  increasing 
fervor)  Tossed,  beaten  on  the  rocks  of  a stormy  ocean,  I touclied  the 
shore — for  one  moment — one  blissful  moment, — and  the  ruthless  waters 
snatclied  me  back  into  the  furious  breakers.  No!  I still  live — {rises) — 
the  waves  have  not  engulphed  me.  I live — but  {passing  her  hand  over 
her  forehead)  broken  ! — broken  I Let  me  be  calm.  When  I saw  him 
yesterday — no,  not  yesterday — no,  a week  ago — a week  ! —how  passionate 
were  his  words.  Let  us  flee  together,”  he  cried,  and  I deserted  all 
who  belonged  to  me — abandoned  in  the  storm  the  mother,  the  helpless 
infant,  and  the  blind  old  man,  to  follow  him  I I fled  from  all,  to  throw 
myself  into  his  arms,  and  have  no  other  ti  * on  earth  but  him,  and  he — he 
took  back  his  heart,  and  oflered  me  money  in  its  stead.  And  my  heart 
still  beats — I live  still,  (with  a faltering  voice)  A fair  girl  led  him  away, 


ACT  II. 


21 


with  smiles  upon  her  lips  ! — he  loves  her  ! — he  loves  her,  and  the  poor 
Jewess  may  go  fo.  th,  with  money  to  pay  for  her  soul’s  wreck,  {darkly) 
Not  so  ! not  so  I — i wMll  see  ihm,  and  claim  the  reckoning,  for  promises 
made  in  Heaven’s  name.  1 will  see  him -the  perfidious into 
tears) — Ob,  my  heart  ’ dost  thou  love  still  the  foot  th.it  tramples  thee? 
(covers  Im  face  with  her  hands^  and  weeps  passionately — organ  in  church 
peals — she  h.stens^  then  continues  more  calmly)  Pei  iiaps  I have  been  the 
victim  of  some  error,  hito  which  he  may  have  been  led  designedly.  His 
mind  may  have  been  tided  with  cruel  prejudice.  In  truth,  his  looks  and 
voice  bespoke  more  of  so.rrow  than  of  anger.  Why  did  I not  question 
him  % Proud  lips,  why  did  you  not  beg  to  know  the  cause  of  his  aver- 
sion 'I  Still  he  may  love  me,  and,  even  now,  his  heart,  like  mine,  be 
weighed  dowr.  with  grief  and  vain  regret,  (the  organ  again  peals)  My 
soul  is  calmed  by  the  holy  mystery  of  those  sounds,  (the  organ  ceases — 
she  goes  to  church  window^  and  listens)  There  are  voices  speaking  in  the 
church,  as  if  a marriage  were  being  solemnized.  Two  hearts,  long  suf- 
fering from  the  anger  of  men,  perhaps,  are  being  bound  with  the  bless- 
ing of  the  priest  I bless  them,  too.  Let  me  look  upon  them — the 
happy  ones,  (going  to  the  door,  r.,  and  gently  opening  it)  I am  alone— no 
one  can  see  me.  (cautiously  looking  in,  then  suddenly  rushing  to  the  front, 
uttering  a lour  wild  cry)  Where  am  I ? — do  I dream  ? ’Tis  he  ! ’tis  he  ! 
(raising  her  hands  towards  heaven,  vehemently)  Just  Heaven  ! — I call  back 
my  benedictioii ! Let  no  blessing  rest  on  such  a perjurer’s  head  ! A 
knife  for  vengeance  ! — bkod  ! blood  ! (rushes  wildly  towards  the  church 
door,  hut  stops  suddenly)  No  I no  ! ‘‘  Thou  shalt  not  judge  1 ” — ’tis  the 
written  law  ! {cr'''sses  over  to  the  broken  column,  l.)  I judge  him  hot.  Deal 
with  this  Christian,  Heaven,  (raising  her  hand,  i nd  resting  against  the  col- 
umn with  the  other)  I accuse,  but  judge  not. 

Enter  Joseph  form  the  church  doors  r.  — carries  Old  Martha’s  rosary  in 

his  hand, 

Jos.  (c.).  One  moment  alone,  or  I shall  faint.  The  sight  of  so  many 
smiling  faces  about  me  is  insupportable  ! The  good  priest’s  words  sound 
like  grim  mockery  ; while  through  one  of  the  windows  of  the  church  I 
seemed  to  see  an  angry  face  looking  down  on  me,  and  a cry  seemed  to 
ring  in  my  ears. 

Debor.  (moving  towards  him).  Seemed  ! 

Jos.  (shrinking  hack — astounded)  ^ Deborah  ! 

Debor.  (c.).  It  is  I ! ^ 

Jos.  (r.  c.,  tremblingly).  What  would  you? 

Debor.  (passionately).  What  would  I ] 

Jos.  Oh,  Deborah  ! 

Debor.  (indignantly).  Silence!  thrice  predjured ! Can  in  be  possible 
that  you  are  he  whom  I loved?  You! — are  those  blanched  features  the 
same  that  I once  gazed  on,  from  their  refulgence  drinking  great  draughts 
of  love  ? No,  no,  no  ! In  these  features  there  is  no  light,  no  beauty!  they 
are  vile,  distorted — void  of  Heaven’s  impress  ! You  are  a clod  of  earth 
— a base  clod,  disgracing  the  divine  form  in  which  you  were  fashioned. 

Jos.  Deborah,  you  have  no  right  to  use  such  words  to  me.  Remem- 
ber who  first  betrayed 

Debor.  Betrayed? 

Jos.  Remember  the  money  I 

Debor:  Money? 

Jos.  The  money  my  father  sent  to  you,  and  which  you  accepted. 

Debor.  Mone)’’  sent  to  me — for  what  *'  urnose  % 

Jos.  To  induce  you  to  depart. 


Debor.  Ha  ! {slowly^  and  with  a hitter  solemnity').  Your  father  sent  me 
money  to  induce  me  to  depart -you  knew  this,  and  suffered  it  to  be 
done. 

Jos.  I would  have  pledged  my  soul  that  you  would  have  refused. 

Debor.  You  permitted  this  thing  to  be  done  1 

Jos.  I wa.s  obliged. 

Debor.  {weeping  with  anger).  Wretch!  Infamous  Christian!  Could 
the  Jewess  claim  of  you  no  moment’s  doubt  ? Was  she  not  even  worthy 
of  being  questioned  ? {with  a choking  voice)  This  is  your  pure  religion! 
{throwing  herself  upon  her  knees)  God  of  my  fathers,  forgive  me  my 
transgression  ! 1 had  forsaken  Thee  to  worship  an  idol  of  love,  {rising) 
A hollow  image  made  of  basest  earth  ! Earthly  love  is  fleeting,  faith- 
less, and  sinful ! but  vengeance  is  eternal — infinite,  {gazing  upwards  with 
a rapt  expression,) 

Jos.  Rave  on  ! such  wild  words  shake  the  last  link  of  your  fetters 
from  my  heart.  Yet,  Heaven  is  my  witness;  if  I have  done  wrong,  1 
would  repair  my  fault. 

Debor.  {fiercely  and  contemptuously).  With  money?  Do  you  not  know 
the  written  law  of  the  forefathers  of  my  race  ? “ An  eye  for  an  eye.’^ 
For  me  the  law  says — a heart  for  a heart ! 

Jos.  Beware  I beware  1 I may  have  wronged  you — but  unknowingly. 
Beware  you  wrong  me  not  with  wild  excess  of  self-blinding  hatred. 

Debor.  Excess  of  hatred  ! Excess  ! {with  prophetic  fervor)  Thou  shalt 
not  bear  false  witness — and  thou  hast.  Thou  shalt  not  break  thine  oath 
— and  thou  hast  ? Thou  shalt  not  steal — and  thou  hast  stolen  my  heart. 
Thou  shalt  do  no  murder — and  thou  hast  killed  my  virgin  love.  It  is 
the  law  of  our  life  to  hate  things  hateful ; say,  within  what  limits  shall 
my  hatred  of  you  avoid  excess  I 

Jos.  {imploringly).  Deborah  1 

Dbeor.  {with  increased  vehemence).  I suflered  5"Our  words  to  be  as  a 
spell  upon  my  soul.  I turned  my  back  upon  the  whole  world  to  follow 
you.  Mark!  The  blind  old  man,  whose  few  steps  towards  the  grave 
were  lessened  in  number  by  your  falsehood — the  feeble  mother,  who  by 
your  lying  words  was  left  untended — the  unsheltered  infant  who,  through 
your  faithlessness,  was  left  to  languish — may  each  waylay  your  steps  by 
day,  and  hover  about  your  pillow  by  night.  Like  my  race,  may  you  be 
a wanderer  upon  the  face  of  the  earth. 

Jos.  Have  mercy,  Deborah. 

Debor.  {taking  no  heed  of  the  appeal).  May  you  suffer  insult,  as  we 
suffer  it.  Accursed  be  the  ground  you  cultivate  ; may  it  be  sterile  ; or, 
may  it  bear,  and  may  its  promises  be  as  false  as  yours  have  been.  If 
you  have  children,  may  they  pine  before  your  eyes  like  the  babe  of  the 
Jewish  woman  whom  I deserted  for  you.  In  all  things,  be  you  accursed. 
And,  as  to  Ebal  Israel  thrice  cried,  so  I cry  thrice — Amen!  Amen  I 
Amen  ! {she  raises  her  arms  prophetically — Joseph,  who  has  appeared 
cmshed  by  this  terrible  malediction.,  makes  an  appealing  gesture.,  but  shrinks 
back  in  terror)  I have  done,  {dropping  her  arms)  Awhile,  I shall  wander 
a beggar;  but  in  a few  years  I shall  return  to  reap  the  harvest  of  sor- 
row I have  sown!  {snatching  the  rosary  from  Joseph)  This  necklace  shall 
serve  to  keep  ihe  reckoning  of  my  hatred  till  my  return  I Live!  and 
await  my  coming!  {turns  from  him  and  goes  out  slowly,  l.) 

Jos.  {calling  after  her).  Deborah!  Deborah!  {he  staggers  a few  paces 
towards  her,  then  falls  senseless.) 

Enter  Anna,  Lorenz,  the  Pastor,  &c.,/rom  the  church  door,  r.  Anna 
screams  and  rushes  to  Joseph,  kneels,  and  raises  his  head — Ficture. 


CURTAIN, 


ACT  III. 


23 


Five  years  Supposed  to  elapse  between  the  Second  and  Third  Acts* 


ACT  IIL 

SCENE  I. — A Room  in  the  Schoolmastee’s  House.  Same  as  Scene  1, 
Acts  IL  A table  and  easy  chair,  c.,  another  chair,  l.  c. 

The  Schoolmaster  discovered  seated  at  table,  reading.  He  appears  haggard, 
and  ten  or  twelve  years  older  than  in  the  preceding  Act. 

S.  Mast,  (^pushing  the  booh  from  him  and  passing  his  hand  over  his  eyes 
tremulously).  I cannot  fix  my  attention  even  for  a few  minutes  ! Nothing 
can  turn  my  mind  from  that  one  haunting  terrible  idea.  Four  times  the 
day  has  come  and  gone  and  the  Jew  that  knows  my  secret  has  not  come 
back  to  yell  the  deadly  word  “ Apostate’'  in  my  neighbors’  ears  ! But 
the  fifth  anniversary  approaches,  and  my  soul  trembles  within  me  ! A 
thousand  times  my  fear  whispers  wildly  in  my  ears — “ Fly  ! fly,  or  you 
are  lost ! ” A stranger’s  face  in  the  broad  sunlight  strikes  me  as  with 
palsy,  and  over  my  pillow  in  the  dark  night  rolls,  like  far  off  thunder 
coming  nearer,  nearer,  the  echo  of  that  old  man’s  voice  crying — 
“ Apostate  ! ” I dare  not  even  pray  for  mercy,  for  the  the  fiend  of  pre- 
judice that  waits  near,  ready  to  tear  me  limb  from  limb,  has  been  nur- 
tured by  myself  ! But  what  shall  I dol  What  can  I do  ? Is  madness 
my  only  hope,  or  suicide  my  only  security  against  discover"’  1 {starting 
wildly  from  his  seat)  Who’s  there  1 

Enter  Old  Martha,  witch-like  with  age,  l. 

Mar.  ’Tis  I,  neighbor. 

S.  Mast.  Good-day,  Martha.  Be  seated. 

Mar.  {darkly,  seating  herself).  Have  you  been  abroad  to-day,  School- 
master ? 

S.  Mast.  No.  Why  do  you  ask  I 
Mar.  Has  any  one  told  you  the  news  7 
S.  Mast.  The  news  7 

Mar.  Do  you  remember  that  five  years  ago  a party  of  Jews 

S.  Mast,  {clutching  the  arms  of  his  chair  convulsively).  Jews  ! 

Mar.  Don’t  you  remember  a woman  of  that  accursed  race  that 
wound  her  toils  about  young  Joseph,  our  Burgomaster’s  son  ! 

S.  Mast.  I — I do  recall.  But  what — what  of  this  woman  7 {aside) 
She  was  of  the  party — Deborah  ! 

Mar.  In  the  next  valley  there  is  at  this  moment  a Jewish  encamp- 
ment— 

S.  Mast.  Ha  ! {trembling  violently i) 

Mar.  Neighbor,  you  may  well  tremble. 

S.  Mast.  Tremble,  Martha  7 

Mar.  Yes,  as  I do,  with  indignation  at  this  open  profanation  of  our 
land. 

S.  Mast,  {wiping  his  brow).  Yes,  yes.  Have  these  execrable  pests 
been  seen  by  any  of  our  neighbors  7 

Mar.  By  several  who  have  crossed  the  hills  since  last  night. 

S.  Mast.  Are  they  a small  band  7 

Mar.  So  they  tell  me.  But  large  or  small 

S.  Mast.  Was  there  seen  amongst  them — a — blind  man  7 


24 


DEBOEAH. 


Mar.  I do  not  know ; but  this  I saw  with  my  own  eyes,  as  I passed 
the  churchyard  wall  this  morning,  after  matins : I saw  a woman  prowl- 
ing amongst  the  graves 

S.  Mast.  And  that  woman  was 

Mar.  The  Jewess  Deborah  ! 1 would  have  gone  back  to  the  Pastor  or 
to  the  Burgomaster,  but  I put  no  trust  in  them  when  Jews  are  con- 
cerned ; and  therefore  I come  to  you,  Schoolmaster  who  I know,  abhor 
the  race  as  all  good  Christians  must. 

S.  Mast,  {rising  and  moving  to  c.).  Yes,  yes,  you  have  done  well,  Mar- 
tha. {aside)  My  soul  is  leaving  me  ! The  dreaded  danger  stalks  towards 
me,  and  I can  neither  fly  nor  dare  it ! {pacing  to  and  fro.) 

Mar.  They  must  be  driven  from  our  district,  even  wiih  fire  and  sword, 
if  need  be — these  pestiferous  Jews  ! 

S.  Mast,  They  must — they  shall,  Martha  ! 

Mar.  And  since  our  priest  and  magistrate  are  wanting  in  sense  of 
Chi  istian  duty,  we  must  act  for  ourselves. 

S Mast.  We’ll  have  no  Jews  near  us. 

Mar.  To  poison  our  wells,  and  kidnap  our  infants  for  sacrifice  in  their 
unholy  rites. 

S.  Mast.  Go  you,  Martha,  and  gather  together  the  neighbors. 

Mar.  I’ll  go  at  once.  I knew  you’d  counsel  that.  You  are  an  un- 
defiled Christian,  Schoolmaster ; but  corruption  is  spreading  here 
amongst  us,  when  our  priests  and  magistrates  permit  themselves  to  toler- 
ate the  presence  of  these  Jewish  abominations  even  for  an  hour ! 

S.  Mast.  Go.  Martha,  we’ll  clear  the  district. 

Ma.r.  With  fire  and  sword  if  they  resist ! 

S.  Mast.  Yes,  yes.  Go,  Martha,  while  I cross  the  hill  to  find  out 
whereabouts  they  have  dared  to  pitch  their  camp.  Go,  go  ! 

Mar.  My  old  limbs  grow  young  again  I We’ll  scourge  these  unclean 
vagabonds,  and  make  them  remember  the  day  they  dared  to  come  into 
this  Christian  district.  We  will!  [Exit,  l. 

S.  Mast,  {sinking  hack  into  his  chair).  The  woman  Deborah,  whose 
hatred  I may  have  won  by  thwarting  her  five  years  ago  I — to  whom  the 
old  man,  Abraham,  may  have  told  my  secret ! My  terrors  have  but 
forerun  my  danger.  Oh,  there  must  be  an  end  to  this  increasing  tor- 
ment 1 My  soul  revolts  from  violence,  but  my  safety — my  life  is  at  stake 
— and  this  woman  holds  my  fate  at  a word  of  hers ! {rising  listlessly  and 
pacing  up  and  down)  For  fifteen  years  of  worldly  comfort  1 have  paid  a 
fearful  price — five  years  of  torture  ! Apostate  I Oh,  could  I buy  back 
the  past,  or  drown  the  echo  of  that  dreadful  word  henceforth  and  for 
ever ! But  let  me  think,  nor  waste  what  strength  I have  in  fighting  with 
shadows.  Yes,  I will  go  to  their  encampment,  and  if  I find  her  there, 
question  her,  and  by  her  answers  guess  how  mucli  it  is  likely  she  may 
know  concerning  me.  If  she  knows  me  ! — then  I 1 dare  not  think  what 
then  ! But  she  must  not  speak  that  dreadful  word  in  any  other’s  ear. 
She  must  not!  she  must  not ! {he  harries  out,  r.,  in  trembling  excitement.) 

SCENE  II. — The  Border  of  a Bine  Forest,  on  the  Biver  Mar.  Evening. 

A party  of  Jewish  Emigrants  {men,  old  and  young,  women  and  children) 
discovered  encamped ; packages,  handles,  ^c.,  scattered  about  the  scene. 
The  party  are  breaking  up  their  encampment,  and,  while  getting  their 
things  together,  sing  the  following 

CHORUS. 

Fare  thee  well ! Oh,  fare  thee  well ! 

We  hush  the  sigh,  we  quench  the  tear  ; r 


ACT  III. 


25 


Dear  fatherland,  we  part  from  thee, 

But  still,  in  memory  thou’lt  be  near; 

For  though  between  us  and  our  home, 

There  stretch  a dark  and  stormy  main, 

Howe’er  so  far  our  footsteps  roam. 

In  thought  we’re  back  with  thee  again ! 

Fare  thee  well ! Oh,  fare  thee  will ! 

Erder  Deborah,  l.,  enveloped  in  a dark  cloak — she  walks  with  tottering  steps 
— worn  andpale^  hut  as  if  sustained  by  her  determined  will — she  has  the 
rosary  wound  about  her  right  arm,  and  is  followed  by  Reuben,  a trav- 
eller's wallet  slung  at  his  back,  and  staff  in  his  hand. 

Reuben  {calling  as  he  enters'),  Deborah  ! stay ! 

Debor.  (c.).  Why  do  you  follow  my  steps '? 

Reub.  (h.  c.).  Why  are  you  seeking  to  leave  our  party,  Deborah  1 
The  ship  that  is  to  take  us  from  this  land,  where  we  are  outcasts,  awaits 
us — are  you  not  going  with  us  ? 

Debor.  The  future  is  not  in  my  hands.  I have  something  to  do  be- 
fore I quit  this  Christian  land — favored  by  Heaven  with  ail  bounties  of 
prosperity,  but  banned  with  heart- corrosion  of  uncharitabieness  i 

Rueb.  I know  your  special  wrongs,  Deborah. 

Debor.  Stay  with  our  people,  Reuben. 

Reub.  But  come  with  us,  leave  the  place,  and  in  a far-oflf  land  for- 
get— 

Debor.  Forget ! Leave  me,  good  Reuben  ! Five  years  have  passed 
since  last  1 set  foot  upon  this  spot  of  Christian  ground.  I have  counted 
the  months  upon  this  vile  necklace  : {holding  up  the  rosary)  each  bead  is 
the  record  of  a curse!  I’ll  not  depart  till  I have  stood  before  him  eye 
to  eye,  and  seen  him  cowering  in  the  dust,  stricken  by  the  lightnings  of 
my  just  wrath  I I will  look  upon  him  writhing  under  the  scorching  sting  of 
a demon-haunted  conscience  1 I will  look  upon  the  ruins  of  his  faithless 
house,  shattered  by  the  thunders  of  my  malediction  I Like  the  aveng- 
ing angel  will  I once  more  stand  before  him,  and  shout  in  his  ears  a word 
that  shall  thrill  upon  his  soul  like  the  dread  note  of  the  last  trumpet — 

Deborah  I ” And  then — then  I will  pass  on  my  way  ! 

Reub.  Oh ! give  up  this  dreadful  purpose,  Deborah,  and  come  with 
your  people  to  a new  world,  where  you  may  und  peace — and  even  a 
new  love ! 

Debor.  Go,  go  1 You  understand  me  not — leave  me  ! 

Reub.  But  you  will  overtake  us  on  the  road  ? 

Debor.  Guide  those  who  are  with  you  towards  the  sea-shore ; leave 
me  to  my  destiny. 

Reub.  On  the  sea-shore  you  will  join  us  ! 

Debor.  If  I live.  Farewell ! {she  waves  him  off,  and  totters  slowly 
out,  R. — Reuben  watches  her  sadly,  then  exits  l.,  followed  by  the  rest  of 
the  Emigrants.) 


SCENE  III. — A Wood  Path — Evening. 

Enter  Rose  and  Peter,  l. 

Peter.  Rose ! 

Rose.  Yes,  Peter! 

Peter.  I’ve  had  something  to  say  to  you  for  a long  time  past.  Rose, 
Rose.  Have  you,  Peter  ? 

Pettr.  Yes,  I’ve  been  going  so  say  it  for  years  ! 


26 


DEBORAH. 


Rose.  How  strange  ! I never  supposed  you  had  anything  you  wanted 
Lo  say  to  me,  Peter ! 

Peter.  Rose  ! 

Rose.  Yes,  Peler  ! 

Peter.  Did  you  ever  remark  what  a many  people  there  are  who  get 

married,  Rose  ? 

Rose.  No,  Peter  ! but — now  you  mention  it 
Peter.  Oh  ! it’s  a fact,  I assure  you,  Rose ! 

Rose.  Lor  1 how  strange  I never  noticed  P 
Peter.  Rose  ! 

Rose.  Yes,  Peter  ! 

Peter.  What  I was  going  to  say  was — was- 
Rose.  Yes,  Peter! 

Peter.  Was  that — I suppose  there  must  be  some  reason  why  every- 
body seems  to  like  to  get  married. 

Rose.  It  would  seem  strange,  otherwise — wouldn’t  it,  Peter  ? 

Peter.  I’ve  often  and  often  thought  I should  like 

Rose  {demurely').  Yes,  Peter  ! 

Peter.  To — to — ask  you — what  you  think  is  the  reason  why  every- 
body gets  married 

Rose.  I’m— I’m  sure  I don’t  know,  Peter  1 

Peter.  Ah  1 Well,  then,  it’s  of  no  consequence.  Only  I thought  I’d 
just  asked  you  the  question. 

Rose.  You’ve  nothing  else  to  asked  me,  Peter 
Peter.  Well— no ; J.  think  not,  just  at  present ! 

Rose.  Peter  I 
Peter.  Yes,  Rose  ! 

Rose.  I want  to  ask  your  advice,  Peter.  You  know  my  cousin  Fritz 
^the  tall  gamekeeper  ( he  comes  to  church  every  Sunday,  and  stays  in 

the  village  always  for  an  hour  or  two 

Peter.  Yes,  I know  him ; and  I know  that  the  girls  all  hang  about 
him  like  bees  about  a flower  bed.  But  for  my  part,  I think  that  a fel- 
low who  stands  six  feet  six  in  his  stocking 

Rose.  Oh  ! but  he's  good  looking  as  well  as  tall ! 

Peter.  Then  I am  glad  to  say  I don’t  see  him  with  other  people’s 
eyes ! and  if  giiis  liko  scaffold  poles— in  my  opinion,  they  deserve  no 
pity  if  they  break  their  necks  in  climbing  up  to  kiss  them  I 
Rose.  Lor!  Peter,  how  can  you  say  such  dreadful  things  ? 

Peter.  Because  your  cousin  Fritz  is — because  I hate  tall  men! 

Rose.  Well,  Peter,  it’s  fortunate  we  are  not  all  of  the  same  way  of 
thinking.  What  I wanted  to  consult  you  about  was  this,  Peter.  Cousin 
Fritz — — 

Peter.  Look  here,  Rose ; I don’t  want  to  hear  anything  about  your 
cousin  Fritz ; he’s  not  a man  I like. 

Pu)SE.  But  he’s  very  fond  of  me,  Peter  ; he  told  me  so  on  Sunday  last. 
Peter.  Fond  of  you.  Rose  1 
Rose.  Yes,  Peter. 

Petes.  No  matter — go  on. 

Rose.  Well,  he  asked  me,  as  we  were  coming  through  this  very 
wood 

Peter  Rose,  what  did  that  scaffold-pole  of  a fellow  dare  to  ask  you? 
Rose  I hardly  like  to  tell  you,  Peter. 

Peter.  Rose  1 look  here 

Rose.  Yes,  Peter. 

Peter.  It  doesn’t  signify — go  on. 

Rose.  Well,  Peter,  he  said  as  you  didn’t  seem  inclined  to— to  settle, he 
thought  I’d  belter 


ACT  lit. 


27 

Peter.  Rose,  I don’t  know  what  it  was  he  told  you  you’d  “ better  ; ” 
but  the  first  time  1 see  him  speaking  again  to  you,  I’ll  punch  his  head — 
if  I have  to  do  it  out  of  a second-floor  window  ! 

Rose.  Lor,  Peter ! he  only  said  that  if  it  wasn’t  convenient  for  you  to 
marry  me,  I’d  better  marry  him,  and  have  done  with  it. 

Peter.  And  have  done  with  it ! Look  here.  Rose,  there’s  something 
I’ve  long  been  going  to  say  to  you. 

Rose.  Yes,  Peter. 

Peter.  And  that  is 

Rose.  Yes,  Peter. 

Peter.  If  you  wouldn’t  mxnd  going  with  me  at  once  to  the  Pastor-— 
it’s  a little  out  of  the  way. 

Rose.  I’m  not  at  all  tired,  Peter. 

Peter.  Very  well.  In  the  meantime,  look  here,  Rose.  After  we  are 
married 

Rose.  Ma — married,  Peter  ! 

Peter.  Mark  ray  words,  Rose.  Tha  tall  cousin  of  yours  is  never  to 
come  into  my  house  ! 

Rose.  When  we  are  ma-married,  Peter. 

Peter.  I’ll  have  no  scaffold-poles  driving  their  heads  through  my  ceil- 
ings— remember  that.  And  now  I’ve  said  it! 

Rose.  Yes,  dear  Peter  ! [JSxeuntj  b. 

SCENE  IV. — The  Farm-yard^  same  as  Scene  5,  Act  I ; a well  with  a bucket 
and  horn  drinking-cup^  l.  3 e.  ; two  rustic  stools  near  house  door^  r.  ; 
fiery  sunset^  striking  upon  the  waters  of  the  stream  and  upon  the  hill-side. 

Enter  Lorenz  and  the  Pastor,  from  the  house^  r. 

Pas.  {crossing  to  l.  c.).  I know  that  Joseph’s  heart  isin  the  good  work, 
so  that  I have  no  doubt  all  that  can  be  done  will  be  done. 

Lor.  (c.).  Depend  upon  that.  Pastor.  My  boy’s  last  words  as  he  rode 
away  from  the  gate  yonder  were — If  I can’t  get  what  I want  from  the 
underlings,  father,  I’ll  find  my  way  into  the  presence  of  the  Emperor 
himself ! And  he’ll  do  it ! 

Pas.  Heaven  prosper  him!  For,  neighbor,  I,  a Christian  minister, 
feel  weary  and  heart-fallen  at  the  barbarous  antipathy  of  my  flock 
against  the  Jews,  our  fellow-creatures,  whatever  their  creed.  Fanaticism 
and  the  teaching  of  our  true  religion  can  never  go  together ; Are  and 
water  are  not  more  opposed.  Therefore,  for  the  sake  of  those  whom 
Heaven  has  placed  in  our  charge,  I pray  that  Joseph  may  return  em- 
powered by  the  Imperial  Government  to  give  the  rights  of  shelter  and 
protection  to  these  poor  wayfarers  on  the  road  of  life — and  purge  my  ^ 
uiisguided  flock  from  the  sin  of  treating  their  fellow-men  like  soulless  } 
beasts  or  reptiles  of  the  earth  ! 

Lor.  With  Heaven’s  help  this  shame  shall  gradually  be  wiped  off! 
But  we  must  move  cautiously,  Pastor.  Sudden  changes 

Pas.  Will  merely  set  up  one  evil  in  displacing  another.  But  before 
we  form  any  plans,  we  must  have  Joseph’s  report.  Should  he  return 
this  evening,  you’ll  let  me  know  how  he  has  fared  ? 

Lor.  I’ll  send  over  for  you  at  once.  Pastor. 

Pas.  Good-by,  then,  in  the  hope  of  seeing  you  again  before  the  day 
is  done.  [Exd,  l. 

Lor.  (c.).  It  will  be  a noble  work  for  my  boy  to  have  done,  if  he  suc- 
ceeds. When  I think  of  what  took  place  five  years  ago,  and  of  what 
might  happen  at  any  hour,  while  the  barbarous  laws  of  a bygone  time 
remain  in  force,  I blush  to  be  bound  by  my  magisterial  oath  ! I know, 


28 


BEBOEAH. 


too,  that  my  boy  looks  upon  what  he  is  doing  as  a sort  of  expiation. 
(Anna,  leading  her  child^  appears  on  the  hill-side  path,  and  descends  by  the 
open  gate  at  back)  Ha  ! niy  Anna,  and  my  little  empress  ! {holding  open 
his  arms  to  the  child,  who  runs  into  them  ; he  lifts  her  and  kisses  her  fondly 

Child.  See,  grandfather  ! I’ve  picked  you  a basket  of  strawberries. 

Lor.  ah  for  me  % 

Child.  Yes;  you  must  eat  them  every  one. 

Lor.  Then  there’ll  very  soon  be  a new  election  for  the  office  of  Bur- 
gomaster. 

Anna  (l.  c.).  No  news  of  Joseph  yet,  father? 

Lor.  Not  yet,  ray  darling ; but  don’t  be  uneasy.  He  may  have  had 
to  travel  further  than  we  anticipated. 

Anna.  I cannot  help  feeling  somewhat  uneasy.  He  has  been  gone 
nine  days. 

Lor.  Never  doubt,  my  Anna  ; he  has  gone  upon  an  errand  of  charity, 
and  Heaven  will  watch  over  his  safety. 

Anna.  Heaven  hear  my  prayers  ! I will  try  and  conquer  my  uneasi- 
ness. Meantime,  father,  Frantz,  the  locksmith,  whom  I met  on  the  other 
side  of  the  hill,  tells  me  that  he  saw  a party  of  Jews — old  men,  women 
and  children — down  by  the  river  Mur ; he  thinks  they  are  emigrating  to 
America,  and  are  on  their  way  to  the  sea-coast.  It  would  be  a charita- 
ble act,  father,  if  you  would  load  the  little  cart  with  a barrel  of  wine 
and  some  bread,  and  take  it  to  these  poor  people  for  their  supper. 

Lor.  It  would  make  you  feel  happier  ? 

Anna  It  would  indeed,  father. 

Lor.  I’ll  do  it  then,  with  all  my  heart,  darling,  {to  Child)  Come 
along.  Empress  ! and  feed  me  with  strawberries,  while  I load  the  cart,  so 
that  no  time  may  be  lost  in  ridding  society  of  a week-stomached  old 
Burgomaster.  \Bxit,  trotting  play  fully  with  Child  into  house,  r 

Anna  (c.).  Dear  Joseph— husband  ! — what  can  detain  him  so  long 
from  his  wife  and  child  ? Can  any  misfortune  have  befallen  him  ? 1 

tremble.  Misfortune! — yes;  I know  that  it  hangs  over  us,  even  at  ihe 
moment  when  prosperity  smiles  most  benignly  upon  us.  That  poor  wo- 
man’s curse  haunts  us,  spectre-like  I know  it,  by  the  trembling  vehe- 
mence with  which  my  husband  clutches  me  and  his  child  to  his  heart,  to 
shield  us  from  the  danger  ever  visible  to  hi^  eyes  I In  Heaven  alone  is 
our  protection — in  Heaven,  that  can  turn  aside  a doom  pronounced  by 
mortal  lips,  even  though  justice  has  dictated  the  sentence.  Five  years 
have  passed,  and  no  ill  has  followed  the  unhappy  woman’s  curse;  she 
has  no  more  been  seen.  Perhaps — 

Unier  Deborah,  l.,  her  cloak  drawn  closely  about  her 

A poor  beggar  woman  ! {feeling  in  her  pocket^ 

Debor.  (l.  aside).  His  house  ! and  this,  no  doubt,  his  wife.  Be  firm, 
my  heart. 

Anna  {going  to  her  pityingly).  Take  this,  my  poor  woman. 

Debor.  Money  ! put  it  out  of  my  sight.  I want  not  mone 

Anna.  You  want  food  perhaps  ? 

Debor.  I want  no  food. 

Anna.  You  are  thirsty  then 

Debor.  {darkly).  Yes;  1 thirst!  I thirst. 

Anna.  Poor  soul  1 Drink,  then,  at  the  well  here.  IStay — you  are  feeble  ; 
I will  fetch  you  a draught  of  water,  {goes  to  the  well  and  draws  water.) 

Debor.  A fair  house  with  Heaven’s  light  smiling  upon  it,  as  if  it  were  a 
temple  for  the  worship  of  Heaven’s  own  love  and  peace  and  justice  ! yet 
from  its  door  he  drove  me  a supplicant  for  bare  justice  ! here,  upon  this 


ACT  Hi. 


29 


spot  he  dashed  my  heart,  then  set  his  cruel  heel  upon  it  as  he  turned  to 
her!  to  her!  to  this  woman  before  my  dazed  eyes,  smiling  and  happy ! 
Happy?  Ha  ! until  the  fruit  is  broken  upon,  who  can  tell  what  canker- 
ous worm  is  eating  at  the  heart ! 

Anna  {bringing  cup  of  waterf  Drink,  poor  soul,  it  will  refresh  you. 

Debor.  {wildly').  Leave  me. 

Anna.  You  are  ill.  {taking  her  by  the  hand)  Your  hand  is  burning! 
Come,  let  me  lead  you  to  a seat.  {}eads  her  to  a bench  running  along  the 
side  of  the  house ^ r.) 

Debor.  Are  you  alone  in  the  house  ? 

Anna.  Yes!  my  father  has  gone  to  assist  some  poor  emigrant  Jews. 

Debor.  Where  is  he  ? 

Anna.  I do  not  know  whom  you  mean. 

Deb^.  He  ! 

Ani^  My  husband  'I  (sighing)  He  is  from  home. 

Debor,  (rising  with  fierce  joy).  From  home ! He  has  left  you ! 
There's  justice  upon  earth  after  all!  (moves  to  c.,  followed  by  Anna) 
Have  you  children  1 How  many  ? 

Anna  But  one,  a little  girl 

Debor.  And  he  has  left  you  both  ! 

Anna.  Oh,  Heaven  ! good  woman,  if  you  know  anything 

Debor.  I know  nothing— nothing  but  that  he  has  left  his  wife  and 
child  ? 

Anna.  You  tremble,  you  are  ill ! 

Debor.  111?  (triumphantly)  ^o\  My  sickness  passes  ! Your  words  are 
healing  medicine ! Tell  me  how  long  he  has  been  away  from  his  wife 
and  child  ! 

Anna.  Nine  days,  but — — 

Debor.  Nine  days  ! and  you  know  not  where  he  is  gone  ? 

Anna  (surprised  yet  soothingly).  I do  not  understand  your  questions. 

Debor.  Do  you  not  ? He  has  been  gone  nine  days,  and  you  have  no 
suspicion? — no  fear? 

Anna.  What  should  I fear  ? I know  the  business  on  which  he  went 
from  home,  and  Heaven  will  watch  over  him. 

Bebor.  You  know  not  that.  What,  if  his  horse  were  frightened  by 
the  lightning’s  flash,  and  threw  him  to  the  earth  ? What,  if  the  bi  idge 
he’s  crossing  sinks  beneath  him  ? What,  if  an  unseen  hand  should 
strikes  him  dead,  in  the  depths  of  the  forest? 

Anna.  Cease,  woman  ! how  dare  you  say  such  things  to  terrify  me  ? 
Leave  this  place,  I command  you. 

Debor.  (aside).  My  courage  rises  again  ! she  drives  me  forth,  (darkly) 
So  be  it ! so  be  it ! (going  towards  gate  at  back.) 

Anna  (following  her).  Stay,  stay  ! I was  wrong— very  wrong  to 
speak  harshly  to  you.  You  are  ill,  and  I ought  to  have  remembered  that. 
Remain  here  to-night.  Sleep  will  strengthen  you,  and  in  the  morning— 
Ha  I (looking  off  joyously,  l ) ’tis  he  I 

[Rushes  off,  L.— Deborah  hides  herself  behind  one  of  the  stacks,  L. 


Enter  Joleph,  l.,  booted  and  spurred,  as  if  he  had  come  off  a journey,  hh 
arm  round  Anne’s  waist. 


Jos.  (c.).  All  safe  and  wed.  dearest? 

Anna.  Thank  Heaven  ! 

Jos.  And — our  child  ? 

Anna  (running  to  house  door^  r.).  Here  ! quick,  darling  ! Papa’s  come 
back. 


30 


BEBOEAdE. 


Enter  Child,  from  house  door. 

Child.  Dear  papa  ! (rushing  into  his  arms)  Have  you  brought  me  back 
anything  pretty  ! 

Jos.  (kissing  her  again  and  again).  Two  saddle-bags  full ! 

Child  Oh,  that  is  good  of  you.  Where  are  your  saddle-bags  1 

Jos.  Give  me  ten  kisses,  and  I’ll  tell  you.  (the  Child  kisses  him)  That 
last  wasn’t  half  a one  ! (Child  kisses  him  again.) 

Child.  Now  tell  me. 

Jos.  Well,  go  round  to  the  stable  and  tell  old  Moritz  he’s  to  undo  all 

the  buckles  for  you,  and [Child  runs  off,  r. 

Ha,  ha,  ha!  if  love  were  only  always  as  transparent  and  honest  as  a 
child  ! Do  you  love  me  still — after  nine  days’  absence  ? 

Anna.  As  I have  always  loved  you — absent  or  near— with  all  my 
heart.  a 

Jos.  (emir acing  her).  Heaven  bless  you  ! Where  is  my  father 
seat  themselves  on  two  rustic  stools,  c.) 

Anna.  He  has  gone  into  the  valley  by  the  Mur,  to  take  food  to  some 
poor  travellers.  But  tell  me  where  you  have  been. 

Jos.  I’ve  been  all  the  way  to  Vienna,  for  finding  that  at  Gratz  their 
old-fashioned  routine  was  interminable,  I boldly  determined  to  spur 
right  on  to  the  Emperor’s  palace. 

Anna.  And  did  you  gain  admission  ? 

Jos.  Oh,  yes  ! You  walk  into  the  palace,  as  into  a church.  And 
when,  at  his  gracious  bidding,  I told  the  Emperor  I had  come  to  ask  for 
protection  for  poor  persecuted  Jews,  he  laid  his  hand  upon  my  shoulder, 
and  said — “ Good  friend,  they  are  my  subjects  equally  with  my  Christian 
bhildren,  and  whoever  befriends  my  subjects,  befriends  me.  You  shall 
have  all  the  authority  you  need.” 

Anna  Heaven  bless  his  reign. 

Jos.  So  cried  I,  as  I kissed  his  imperial  hand,  and  rode  joyously  home- 
ward. Oh,  my  love!  if  I have  earned  the  right  to  put  off  from  my  heart 
the  weight  that  has  so  longed  rested  on  it — — 

Anna.  Dear  husband  ! look  around,  and  see  how  manifest  is  Heaven’s 
bare  of  ns. 

Jos.  Yes  ; all  that  meets  the  eye  is  stamped  with  Heaven’s  own  smile 
of  favor.  No  thunderbolt  has  laid  my  house  in  ruins  j no  pestilence 
has  robbed  me  of  my  wife^  no  blight  has  withered  the  healthy  vigor  of 
my  child. 

Anna.  Joseph  1 of  what  are  you  speaking  '? 

Jos.  (burying  his  face  in  his  hands).  Of  the  curse — malediction 
called  down  upon  my  head  by  Deborah. 

Anna.  A thousand  lips,  since  then,  have  blessed  you ; and,  from  this 
day,  her  whole  race  will  praj^  for  you. 

Jos.  Oh,  my  pure,  beloved  wife,  it  is  now,  not  at  her  curse  that  T 
tremble ; but  at  her  pale,  grief-stricken  face,  that  so  often  appears  to 
me,  and  seems  to  say,  “ T have  pardoned  thee.”  Could  I but  only  once 
more  see  her — could  T but  kneel  before,  and  pour  my  teai  s upon  her 
hands — T might,  then,  feel  that  T had  expiated  the  wrong  I had  blindly 
done  her.  and  my  heart  regain  its  lost  peace. 

Anna  (eagerly).  Dear  husband  ! hear  me  ; a thought  inspired  by 
Heaven,  perhaps,  has  come  into  my  head.  Amongst  the  Jewish  emi- 
grants whom  our  father  has  gone  to  assist,  some  tidings  may  be  gained 
of  her — of  Deborah.  Oh.  .Joseph,  if  .you  can  find  her,  bring  her  here 
Into  the  h^«om  of  our  family  — she  shall  be  my  sister ! 

Jos.  My  Anna  ! 

Anna.  Stay  ! the  poor  beggar-woman,  who  was  here  just  now,  may  be 


ACT  iir,  3 1 

one  of  these  unfortunates,  and  may  be  able  to  tell  us  something  about 
her  we  seek. 

Jos.  A beggar-woman  7 

Anna.  Yes,  she  was  ill  and  weary,  and  I bade  her  rest  herself  here 
to-night.  No  doubt  ^he  has  gone  into  the  house.  Let  us  seek  her. 
Come,  and  Heaven  aid  us  to  find  the  poor  lost  one.  {they  both  rise.) 

Jos.  Amen  ! [Exeunt  into  house^  r. 

Debor.  {coming  from  her  hiding-place^  L.).  Eternal  Heaven!  The  icy 
bands  that  held  my  heart  firm  are  tliawing  I My  heart ! it  beats — beats 
with  the  life  of  bygone  days  1 {bursting  into  a passionate  Jit  of  weeping) 
To  what  wouldst  thou  humble  me,  oh  Heaven  I No,  no ! 1 love  no 
longer  as  I once  loved  ! The  golden  book  is  closed — the  sacrifice  upon 
the  altar  is  consumed  ! In  my  heart  a flame  still  burns — unquenchable  ; 
a sister’s  love  ! No,  Anna,  no  ! I will  not  stay  to  be  a constant  shadow 
on  the  bright  face  of  your  happiness  ! My  people  wait  for  me  ; their 
home  upon  a distant  shore  shall  be  my  home,  so  long  as  Heaven  ordains 
that  I shall  need  an  earthly  shelter,  {looking  around  her  and  raising  her 
hands)  Farewell  I (Child  comes  from  the  house  door)  His  child  I Oh  1 fear 
me  not — fear  me  not,  dear  child  ! 

Child.  Are  you  the  poor  woman  papa  is  looking  for  'I 

Debor.  (c.,  kneeling.,  and  encircling  the  Child  tenderly,  while  she  putt 
hack  its  hair  from  its  face).  His  very  image  ! What  is  your  name? 

Child.  Deborah  ! 

Debor.  All-seeing  Heaven ! pity — pity — and  forgive  me  I {she  weept 
passionately')  Do  not  fear  me,  sweet ! 

Child.  Perhaps  you  know  the  other  Deborah '? 

Debor.  What  do  you  know  of  the  other  Deborah,  dear  child? 

Child.  Papa  and  mamma  often  speak  of  her. 

Debor.  Heaven  bless  them  ! 

Child.  And  I say  a little  prayer  for  her  every  night ! 

Debor.  {kissing  her  with  wild  and  boundless  tenderness,  and  unwinding  the 
rosary  from  her  arm).  Dearest,  dearest  child  ! take  this  ! 

Child.  Oh!  what  a beautiful  rosary  ! I’ll  take  it  to  mamma!  {runs 
into  house,  r.) 

Debor,  Bless  you  ! {turns  away,  then  turns  and  raises  her  hands  towards 
the  house  as  if  invoking  a blessing)  Bless  all  beneath  this  roof ! {she  hurries 
with  broken  steps  through  the  gate  at  back,  and  seebig  Anna  enter  from  the 
house,  crouches  for  a moment  behind  the  railings.) 

Enter  Anna,  Joseph,  and  Child. 

Child.  The  poor  woman  gave  it  me,  mamma  I 

Anna  (c,).  Where  is  she,  child  ? 

Jos.  {taking  the  rosary  from  Anna’s  hand,  and  looking  at  it  closely). 
Great  Heaven,  Anna  ! — Deborah  ! 

Anna  (looking  at  the  rosary).  Deborah  ! 

Debor.  {at  back).  Yes,  Deborah  ! whose  vengeance  love  has  con- 
queied  ! Who  blesses  you  and  bids  you  farewell  until  we  meet  again, 
where  all  is  peace  and  love  ! {she  once  more  raises  her  hands — at  that  mo- 
ment a murmur  of  voices  coming  rapidly  nearer  is  heard,  l.,  and  the  School- 
master appears  on  the  path  on  the  hillside  at  back — he  sees  Deborah, 
makes  a gesticulation  of  terror  and  hurries  down  towards  her — Deborah 
comes  forward  to  c.) 

S.  Mast,  {wildly).  What — what  do  you  here,  Jewess,  in  this  Christian 
^ village  ? 

Debor.  Stand  from  ray  path,  and  leave  me  to  go  my  way  in  peace  ! 


>12 


debohah. 


Enter  a crowd  of  Villagers,  )mn  and  women^  l.,  in  the  midst  of  whom  tt 
Old  Martha. 

Mar.  (l  ).  See,  neiglibors  ! see  ! I told  you  we  sliou’d  find  lie;e  one 
of  the  abominable  tribe  ! {murmurs)  Seize  her,  Schoolmaster. 

Debor.  Touch  me  not — apostate  ! 

S.  Mast,  {shrieking).  She  lies ! she  lies  ! do  not  listen  to  her  lying 
tongue  ! 

Debor.  I speak  the  truth — Nathan,  son  of  Nathan,  the  Jew  of  Pres- 
burg ! 

S.  Mast,  (wildly).  Silence!  (plunging  his  hand  into  his  breast)  She’s 
mad!  Neighbors,  heed  not  her  words  !— she’s  mad  ! {movement  of  amaze- 
ment  in  the  crowd.) 

Debor.  Hypocrite  I deserter  of  his  aged  father  ! disgrace  of  Israel  ! 

S.  Mast,  (frantically).  I am  lost!  Woman  !— die  ! {he  suddenly,  scarce- 
ly seeming  to  know  what  he  is  doing,  plunges  a knife  into  her  h.soin,  then,  after 
looking  wildly  around  for  a moment  rushes  up  the  hill-path,  reaching  the  top 
at  the  moment  Lorenz  and  two  Peasants  appear  at  the  brow  of  the  hill.) 

Jos.  {who  has  rushed  forward  and  caught  Deborah  in  his  arms).  Seize 
him!  Seize  the  murderer  I {general  movement.) 

S.  Mast,  {seeing  no  way  of  escape).  Lost ! lost  I 

He  springs  from  the  rocky  edge  of  the  path  into  the  stream — a cry  of  horror 
from  all — the  Pastor  enters  hurriedly  and  crosses  Joseph,  who  is  sup- 
porting Deborah — Deborah  takes  Anna’s  hand  and  places  it,  with 
Joseph’s,  upon  her  heart,  then  raises  her  other  hand  towards  heaven  and 
dies  -Anna  sinks  upon  her  knees,  the  Child  kneeling  by  her  side — the 
Pastor  reverently  takes  off  his  hat,  and  the  Crowd  do  the  same — Old 
Martha  sinks  upon  her  knees,  and  buries  her  face  in  her  hands— 

ENZ  remains  upon  the  hill-side,  hat  in  hand,  a wondering  spectator — the 
curtain  descends  slowly. 

CURTAIN. 


SYNOPSIS. 

The  first  act  opens  on  a quiet  rural  hamlet— the  rustic  cottage— the  humble  church 
— the  village  green.  The  Pastor  and  his  niece  Anna  enter  through  a crowd  of  the  vil- 
lagers ; they  are  conversing  about  the  cruel  persecution  at  that  time  visited  upon  the 
Jews,  when  Lorenz,  the  Burgomaster,  and  the  village  Schoolmaster  enter,  they  are 
talking  about  the  absence  of  Joseph,  the  son  of  Lobekz,  from  the  church  services. 
Anna  begins  to  relate  to  her  uncle  that,  while  going  on  an  errand  of  charity  to  a poor 
parishioner,  she  met  with  a poor,  half-famished  woman,  pressing  a little  child  to  her 
breast.  They  looked  so  wretched  that  she  gave  the  bread  and  milk  she  was  carry- 
ing to  the  woman.  Then  she  asked  the  poor  creature  of  what  nation  she  was,  and 
she  cried,  “ I am  a Jewess  !”  The  Schoolmaster  at  this  grew  very  restless.  The 
woman  continued  to  say  that  she  and  her  friends  had  been  expelled  from  Hungary. 
Anna  then  begged  Lorenz  to  permit  the  poor  woman  to  come  into  the  village  until 
her  present  wants  were  relieved.  At  this,  the  Schoolmaster,  who  was  much 
excited,  protested  against  a Jewess  being  allowed  in  their  midst.  In  tbe  heat  of  the 
discussion,  the  Pastor  again  joins  them ; he  is  surrounded  by  the  peasants,  headed 
by  Old  Martha,  clamorous  for  the  expulsion  of  the  Jews  from  the  neighborhood* 
at  this  moment,  Deborah  rushes  in,  followed  by  a howling  crowd.  The  School- 
master scowls  at  her,  and  sneaks  away,  trembling  with  terror.  Anna  takes  Debo- 
rah’s hand,  and  asks  if  she  seeks  bread.  To  which  the  affrighted  Jewess  replies : 


Just  Published. 


0§WH  fehe  Ga^©H. 

A DRAMA  IN  FOUR  ACTS.  BY  FORBES  HEERMANS, 

PRICE  23  CENTS. 

Ten  male,  three  female  characters.  A perfect  picture  of  life  in 
the  mining  districts  of  Colorado.  Time,  the  present  day.  Scenery, 
landscapes  and  plain  interior.  Time  of  playing,  two  hours  and  fifteen 
minutes. 


SYNOPSIS  OF  EVENTSc 

ACT  I. 

Twilight  in  San  Juan  Mountains. 

A poor  lone  creetur — The  coyote’s  howl — Courting  of  Minerva 
Jobson — The  dumb  boy  appears — Sale  of  the  mine — Hiding  the  mo- 
ney— Jimmie’s  rescue — Put  up  your  hands  !— March  ! — Two  love 
scenes — The  robbery — A cry  for  help  ! — The  murder — Who  has 
done  this  ? ” 

ACT  II. 

Foot  of  Monument  Rock,  Black  Canon. 

Midnight  in  the  Black  Canon — The  Vigilantes — Bring  on  the  pris- 
oner— The  accusation — I am  innocent !” — The  trial — Circumstan- 
tial evidence — A blackleg’s  oath — Ruth’s  testimony — Lynch  law — 
Jimmie  to  the  rescue — The  noose  cut — The  escape. 

ACT  III. 

Mouth  of  the  “ Little  Ruth  ” Mine. 

Tom  Dalton  with  song — Spriggs  the  bard — Is  it  loaded  } ” — Mrs. 
Fireworks — ‘‘Fire  away” — The  sheriff  in  disguise — The  papers  in  the 
case — Andrews  appears — The  plot  thickens — The  explosion  in  the 
mine — “ Who  will  save  them  ! ” — “ No  man  can  ! ” — “ Then  a woman 
will ! ” — Andrews  the  hero. 

ACT  IV. 

A Room  in  Mrs.  Spriggs’  House. 

Spriggs  despondent — The  comic  singer,  with  song  and  dance — 
‘Ruth  alone — The  storm — The  silent  witness  again — The  murder 
out — A terrible  struggle — Just  in  time — The  tables  turned — “Down 
the  Black  Canon  ! ” — Saved  ! — “ There’s  nothing  half  so  sweet  in  life 
as  love’s  young  dream.” 


Single  copies  sent,  post-paid,  to  any  address,  on  receipt  of  price. 


UE  WITT’S 

DRAWING-ROOM  OPERETTAS. 

I^rice  1 5 Eacli. 


Tlie  number  of  Musical  Amateurs,  both  ladies  and  gentlemen,  is  not  only  very 
lai'ge,  but  is  constantly  increasing.  And  very  naturally,  for  there  is  no  more  refined 
and  pleasant  mode  of  spending  leisure  hours  than  in  singing  and  playing  the  choict 
productions  of  our  best  composers.  Hitherto  there  has  been  an  almost  total  lack 
suitable  pieces  adapted  to  an  evening’s  entertainment  in  parlors  by  Amateurs,  ol 
course  whole  Operas,  or  even  parts  of  Operas,  require  orchestral  accompaniments 
and  full  choruses  to  give  them  effect,  and  are  therefore  clearly  unfit  for  Amateur 
performance,  while  a succession  of  songs  lacks  the  interest  given  by  a plot  and  a 
•jontrast  of  characters.  In  this  Series  we  have  endeavored  to  supply  this  want.  The 
3est  music  of  popular  composers  is  wedded  to  appropriate  words,  and  the  wholo 
woven  into  plots  that  are  effective  as  petite  plays — but  are  rendered  doubly  interests 
bag  by  appropriate  and  beautiful  music,  specially  arranged  for  them- 


Africaiiiis  Bluebeard.  Ethiopian  i^arlesque,  in  1 act.  Music  and  dialogue 
by  Frank  Dumont.  6 male,  2 female  characters. 

Cliarge  of  tlie  Hasli  Brigade  (The).  Comic  Irish  Musical  Sketch.  MusU 
and  Libretto  by  Jos.  P.  Skelly.  2 male,  2 female  characters. 

Circumstances  Alter  Cases.  Comic  Operetta,  in  1 act.  Music  and  Libretta 
by  Alfred  B.  Sedgwick.  1 male,  1 female  character. 

E.  C.  B.  Susan  Jane.  Comic  Operetta,  in  1 act,  by  George  G.  Hart.  Musia 
arranged  for  the  piano  by  K.  B.  Steirly.  8 male.  1 female  characters. 

Estranged.  Operetta,  in  1 act.  Music  arrangeu  from  Verdi’s  famous  opera, 
“ ILTrovatore.”  Libretto  by  A.'B.  Sedgwick.  2 male  1 female  characters. 

Oambriiius,  King  of  Lager  Beer.  Ethiopian  Burlesque,  in  1 act.  Music 
and  dialogue  by  Frank  Dumont.  8 male,  1 female  characters. 

Gentlemen  Coons’  3*arade.  Musical  Sketch,  in  1 act.  Music  by  J.  S.  Mul. 
laly.  Libretto  by  Geo,  Thatcher.  3 male  characters  and  chorus. 

Eeap  Year.  Musical  Duality.  By  A.  B.  Sedgwick.  Music  adapted  from  Offen 
bach’s  celebrated  opera.  “ Genevieve  de  Brabant.”  1 male,l  female  character 

Molly  Ifforinrty.  Irish  Musical  Sketch,  in  1 act.  Music  and  dialogue  by  Alfred 
. B.  Sedgwick.  1 male,  1 female  character. 

Mr.  iriiknclo  ; or  .Tnpuiiese  from  the  “ Yech.”  Musical  Burlesque  on 
Gilbert  and  Sullivan’s  Opera  of  “ The  Mikado.”  By  Frank  Dumont.  Music 
arranged  for  the  piano  by  Samuel  Hosfeld.  6 male,  4 female  characters  and 
chorus. 

\T silking  Ehotogrsipli.  Musical  Duality,  in  1 act.  Music  arranged 
from  Le  Cocq's  opera,  “ La  Fille  de  Madame  Augot.”  Libretto  by  Alfred  B. 
Sedgwick.  ] male,  1 female  character. 

Queerest  Courtisliip  (’I'he).  Comic  Operetta,  i«  1 act.  Music  arranged  from 
Offenbach’s  celebrated  opera,  “ La  Princess  de  Trebizonde.”  Libretto  by  A. 
B.  Sedgwick.  I male,  1 female  character. 

Siiaglc  itlsiirried  JBsin  (A).  Comic  Operetta,  in  1 act.  Music  arranged  from 
Offenbach’s  celebrated  Opera  Bouffe,  “ IMadame  rArchiduc.”  Libretto  by  A. 
B.  Sedgwick.  6 male,  2 female  characters. 

Sold  sigsiiii  Sind  got  tlie  Moii<‘y.  Comic  Operetta,  in  1 act.  Music  and 
Libretto  by  Alfred  B.  Sedgwick.  3 male,  1 female  character. 

Tsiil  off  Si  Shsirk  (The),  Musical  Monologue.  By  Tom  Hood,  Sr.  Introduc- 
tion and  music  rewritten  and  adaptred  by  A.  B.  Sedgwick.  1 female  character. 

Twin  Sisters  (The).  Comic  Opera,  in  1 act.  Music  from  the  most  popular 
numbers  in  Le  Cocq’s  celebrated  Opera  Bouffe,  “ Givofle-Girofla.’’  Libretto 
by  A.  B.  Sedgwick.  2 ntale,  2 female  characters. 


tJACK  LONGt 

OF  TEX^S. 

A BORDER  DRAMA  IN  TWO  ACTS. 
By  J.  B.  JOHNSTONE. 

Price  15  Cents. 


Nine  male,  two  female  characters.  One  of  the  most  thrilling 
pictures  of  life  on  the  frontier  ever  presented.  Filled  with  exciting 
scenes  between  Scouts,  Mexicans,  Indians,  Half-breeds,  and  Yankees. 
Scenery,  exterior  of  log  cabin,  landscape,  and  an  interior.  Costumes, 
picturesque  frontier.  Time  of  playing,  two  hours. 

Synopsis  op  iNCiDENfS  foe  Peogrammbs,  Small  Bills, 

Etc. 

ACT  I. — Frontisi’  Settlement  in  Texas. 

Distant  view  of  the  rolling  prairie  by  sunrise — The  ‘‘horse  thieves” 
and  regulators — The  never-miss  shot — The  Yankee  trader 
riled — Border  match-making — The  threats  of  malice. 

The  stolen  steed. 

THE  BARBECUE  AND  SHOOTING  GROUNDS. 

The  follow-my-leader  bullets — The  judgment  of  Squire  Lynch — The 
flagellation — The  vow  of  vengeance — The  free  fight — “ In 
one  see  the  doom  of  all  ” — Tableau. 

ACT  II.— Cypress  Swamp  in  the  Cross  Timbers. 

The  pirates  of  the  prairie  on  the  lookout — The  peddler  and  his  fate — 
The  dread  pursuer — Ben  Small’s  store — The  “norther” — 

The  terrors  of  the  tornado — The  fugitive  criminal — 

The  shot  in  the  eye ! 

THE  CHAPPARAL. 

The  maniac  hunter — The  regulator’s  remorse. 

THE  SCOU  rs  REFUGE  IN  THE  THICKET. 

The  tree  over  the  canon — The  last  but  one — The  villain’s  flight,  and 
the  appeal  for  mercy. 

INDIAN  TRAIL  THROUGH  THE  BLACK  GROWTH. 
The  chase  continued — The  narrow  escape. 
PAINTED  ROCK 

On  the  Rio  Bravo — The  anxious  w^ait — The  last  hope  wrecked — The 
shot  in  the  eye — The  cure  by  love — The  happy  sequel — Tableau. 


Single  copies  sent,  post-paid,  to  any  address,  on  receipt  of  price. 


FOR  CHRISTMAS. 

^ust  the  thing  tor  School  and  Church  Entertainments, 

»i|-pEeiTATIO;^JS  fOR  0JHRISTJ\/IAS.» 

Collected  and  arranged  by  MARGRET  HOLMES,  author  of 
"The  Chamber  Over  The  Gate,  ” and  editor  of  "The  Tatler.” 
The  only  collection  of  the  kind  published. 

eONTAINS  sixty  choice  selections  from  the  best  writers 
suitable  for  use  in  Christmas  entertainments  in  church 
and  school.  Among  the  authors  represented  are  Dickens, 
Aldrich,  Howells,  Constance  F.  Woolson,  Lew  Wallace,  R.  H. 
Stoddard,  Helen  Gray  Cone,  John  Boyle  O’Reilly,  Herrick,  Cole- 
ridge, Geo.  W.  Curtis,  Margret  Holmes,  Thomas  Nelson  Page, 
Julia  Goddard,  Phoebe  Cary,  and  Thomas  Hood, 

120  pp.  16  mo.  Price  twenty-five  cents. 


« QIAbOQUES-^fOR-^ 0HRISTMAS.-j» 

By  Margret  Holmes. 

16  mo.  pp  140.  Price  twenty-five  cents. 

eONTAINS  a short  play  "The  Delayed  Letter,”  and  about 
forty  dialogues  written  expressly  for  use  in  Christmas  en. 
tertainments^  and  suitable  for  private  representation  or 
for  celebrations  in  schools  and  churches. 

Every  preceding  Christmas  there  has  been  a demand  for 
plays  and  dialogues  suitable  for  church  and  school  enter- 
tainments. This  volume  contains  dialogues  for  persons 
of  all  ages,  and  fills  the  "long  felt  want'’  completely. 


Burr  BT  MAIL,  post  paid,  to  ant  part  of  thb  Unitid  Statm  or 
Canada  on  rboiipt  of  prior 


I>3E!  -WITT’S 


Ethiopian  and  Comic  Drama. — Continued. 


N’o.  M.  F. 

49.  Nio-ht  in  a Strange  Hotel,  Ethiopian 

132.  Noble  Savage,  Eth,  sketch 4 1 

153.  Norah’s  Good  Bye,  Irish  musical 

sketch 2 1 

145.  No  Pay  No  Cure,  Eth.  sketch 5 

22,  Obeying  Orders.  Eth.  sketch 2 1 

27.  100th  Night  of  Hamlet,  Eth.  sketch  7 1 
125.  Oh,  Hiishl  operatic  olio,  3 scenes.  4 i 
so.  One  Night  in  a Bar-Uonuu,  Eth, 

sketch 7 

114.  One  Night  in  a Medical  College 

Eth.  sketch 7 1 

76.  One,  Two,  Three,  Eth.  sketch.,  ...  7 

91.  Painter's  Apprentice,  Eth.  farce.. . 5 
87.  Pete  and  the  Peddler,  Eth.  and 

Irish  sketch 2 1 

135.  Pleasant  Companions,  Eth.  sketch.  5 1 

92.  Polar  Bear,  Eth.  farce 4 1 

9.  Policy  Players,  Eth.  sketch 7 

57.  Pompey’s  Patients,  Eth.  interlude, 

2 scenes 6 

65.  Porter’s  Troubles,  sketch 6 1 

66.  Port  Wine  vs.  Jealousy,  sketch ...  2 1 

115,  Private  Boardiug,  farce .3  3 

14.  Recruiting  Office,  Eth.  sketch 5 

105.  Rehearsal  (The),  Irish  farce,  2 sc.  . 4 2 

45.  Remittauce  from  Home,  Ethiopian 

sketch 6 

55.  Rigging  a Purchase,  Eth*  sketch .’ . 3 

81.  Rival  Artists,  Eth.  sketch.  4 

26.  Rival  Tenants,  Eth.  sketch  4 

138.  Rival  Barbers’  Shops,  Eth.  farce . . 6 1 

15.  Sam’s  Courtship,  Eth.  farce 2 1 

59.  Sausage  Makers,  Eth.  sketch,  2 sc.  5 1 
21.  Scampini,  pantomime,  2 scenes. . 6 3 

160.  Scenes  in  Front  of  a Clothing  Store, 

farce 7 i 

80.  Scenes  on  the  Mississippi,  Eth. 
sketch,  2 scenes . . 6 


84.  Serenade  (The),  Eth.  sketch,  2 sc..  7 


M.  F. 

38.  Siamese  Twins,  Eth.  sketch,  2 sc..  5 
74.  Sleep  Walker,  Eth.  sketch,  2 scenes  3 

46.  Slippery  Day,  Eth.  sketch 6 1 

69.  Squire  for  a Day,  Eth.  sketch 5 i 

56.  Stage-struck  Couple, Eth.  interlude  2 1 

72.  Strangers,  Eth.  burlesque 1 •» 

13.  Streets  of  New  York,  sketcli  ,..'.*!  6 
16.  Storming  the  Fort,  sketch..  5 

7 Stupid  Beavajit,  sketch  2 

(21,  Stocks  Up  I (Sfecxiko  filh 

farce ^ 

151  Sulphm  Biitli,  Eth.  farce. . ! ! ! ! ’ 3 

47.  Take  It,  Don’t  Take  It,  Eth.  sketch  2 

54.  Them  Papers,  Eth.  sketch 3 

100.  Three  Chiefs,  Eth.  sketch,  2 scenes  6 
102.  Three  A.  M.,  sketch,  2 scenes.  ...  3 1 
34.  Three  Strings  to  one  Bow,  Eth. 

sketch 4 1 

122.  Ticket  Taker,  Eth.  farce 2 

2.  Tricks,  Eth.  sketch 5 2 

104.  Two  AM-fuls,  Eth.  sketch 5 

5.  Two  Black  Roses.  Etli.  sketch...  .4  1 

28.  Uncle  Eph's  Dream,  Eth.  sketch,  2 

scenes 3 1 

156.  United  States  Mail.  Eth.  larce..’..!  2 2 

134.  Unlimited  Cheek,  Eth.  sketch 4 1 

62.  Vinegar  Bitters.  .Eth.  sketch 6 1 

32.  Wake  up,  William  Henry,  Eth. 

sketch 3 

39.  Wanted,  a Nnrse,  sketch 4 

75.  Weston,  theWalkest.  Dutch  sketch  7 1 
93.  What  Shall  I Take?  Eth.  farce 7 1 

29.  Who  Died  Eir^t?  Eth.  sketch 3 1 

97.  Who’s  the  Actor?  Eth.  farce......  4 

137.  Whose  Baby  is  it?  Etb.  sketch.  ..21 
143.  Wonderful  Telephone,  Etli.  sketch  4 1 
99.  Wrong  Woman  in  the  Right  Place, 

sketch,  2 scenes .’2  2 

85.  Yonng  Scamp,  Eth.  sketch 3 

116.  Zacharias’  Funeral,  Eth.  farce 6 


Complete  Descriptive  Catalogue  of  De  Witt’s  Acting  Plays  and  De  Witt’s 
Ethiopian  and  Comic  Drama,  containing  Plot,  Costumes,  Scenery,  Time  of 
Representation,  and  all  other  information,  mailed  free  and  post-paid  on  application 
Address  as  on  First  Page  of  this  Catalogue. 




An  IniisiensaMe-BooK  for  “AMateors. 


HOW  TO  umm 

mmz  THEATEICAia 


Being  plain  instructions  for  construction  and  arrangement  of  Stage, 
making  Scenery,  getting  up  Costumes,  ^'‘Making  Up''  to  represent 
different  ages  and  characters,  and  how  to  produce  stage  Illusions  and 
Effects.  Also  hints  for  the  management  of  Amateur  Dramatic  Clubs, 
and  a list  of  pieces  suitable  for  Drawing  Room  Performances.  Hand- 
somely illustrated  with  Colored  Plates. 

^rice,*25  Cents. 


DE  WITTES  SELECTIONS 

FOR 

AMATEl  A1 PAELOR  THEATRIGAIS, 


Nos.  1,  2y  3,  4 & 5, 

Being  choice  selections  from  the  very  best  Dramas,  Comedies  and 
Pearces.  Specially  adapted  for  presentation  by  Amateurs,  and  for 
Parlor  and  Drawing  Room  Entertainments. 

Each  number^  25  Cents. 


PANTOMIME  PLAY. 

“HUMPTY  DUMPTY.” 

The  celebrated  Pantomime,  as  originally  played  for  1,000  nights  by  the 
late  George  L.  Fox.  Arranged  by  John  Denier,  Plsq.  Eight  male, 
four  female  characters. 


Erice^  25  CentSi 


I 


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I 


